WITH 


HINTS  FOR  THEIR  IMPROVEMENT 


NATHANIEL  HILLYER  EGLESTON 


NEW  YORK 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN   SQUARE 

1878 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1 878,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

THE    LATE 

ANDREW    JACKSON    DOWNING, 

WHOSE  WRITINGS  HAVE  DONE  SO  MUCH  FOR  THE  IMPROVEMENT  OF  OUR 

COUNTRY    LIFE,  AND   TO   INSPIRE    OUR    PEOPLE   WITH 

A    TASTE    FOR    RURAL   ENJOYMENTS, 

THESE  ESSAYS  ARE   GRATEFULLY 

Jnscribeb. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

Love  of  the  open  country  an  Anglo-Saxon  trait. — Increases  with  age. — 
An  instinct  of  nature. — Lack  of  appreciation  of  rural  life,  how  account- 
ed for. — Improvement  in  this  respect  in  recent  years. — Influence  of 
poets  and  essayists Page  7 

CHAPTER  I. 

VILLAGE   LITE   AS   IT   18   AND   AS   IT   SHOULD  BE. 

General  beauty  of  our  older  villages,  particularly  those  of  New  England. — 
Home-like  appearance. — Tokens  of  civilization  and  culture. — Room  for 
improvement. — Schools  and  education. — False  ideas  of  the  aim  of  life. 
— Worldly  success  too  highly  estimated. — Simple  tastes. — Possibilities. 
— Ideal  of  rural  life. — Hints  and  suggestions 11 

CHAPTER  II. 

TOWN   AND   COUNTRY. 

City  and  country  compared. — Tributes  of  poets  and  philosophers  to  the 
country. — Varro,  Horace,  Lord  Bacon. — Yet  a  strong  and  increasing 
flow  of  population  to  the  city. — One  third  of  the  people  living  in  cities 
and  towns. — Disproportionate  growth  of  city  and  country. — Houses 
and  farms  deserted. — Actual  decline  of  popidation  in  some  towns. — De- 
cline in  character  also. — Educating  and  civilizing  forces  lessened  or 
lost. — No  community. — The  city,  also,  unduly  crowded. — Life  in  the 
city  burns  fast 1!) 


ji  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  III. 

A     DOUBLE     INJURY. 

The  country  depopulated;  the  city  overcrowded. — Balance  lost.— City 
and  country  both  needed. — Mutually  dependent. — The  city  stimula- 
tive of  enterprise. — Great  undertakings  dependent  upon  cities  and 
towns. — Value  of  New  York  or  London  in  this  respect. — Atlantic 
Telegraph.— Pacific  Railroad. —Cities  not  "great  sores." — Villages 
not  necessarily  Arcadias  of  innocence Page  25 

CHAPTER  IV. 

CAUSES    OF   OVER-POPULATING   OF   TOWNS. 

Causes  of  over- population. — Business  considerations  will  not  account  for 
it. — Country  dull. — Lack  of  society. — Visitors  from  the  city  ready  to 
go  back  to  it  again. — Abandoned  country-seats. — Servants  will  not  stay 
in  the  country. — Rush  of  others  to  the  city. — General  movement  of 
life  in  the  country  slow. — Lack  of  recreation  and  amusements. — Soci- 
ety more  precious  than  money  or  lands 30 

CHAPTER  V. 

DULNESS    OF   THE    COUNTRY. 

Country  ought  not  to  be  dull. — Attractions  of  nature. — Poets  delight  in 
the  country,  and  are  perpetually  singing  its  charms. — Bryant,  Words- 
worth. —  The  poet's  eye  and  feeling  wanted.  —  Abundant  natural 
sources  of  delight  in  the  country. — Twofold  problem  :  to  bring  people 
into  contact  with  each  other  and  into  communion  with  nature 38 

CHAPTER  VI. 

MEANS    AND    OCCASIONS    OF    SOCIAL    INTERCOURSE. 

Social  gatherings  to  be  encouraged. — Fault  of  parents  in  this  respect. — 
Local  attachment  to  be  encouraged. — Local  interest  to  be  developed. — 
Special  days  and  occasions  to  be  observed.  —  Farmers'  Clubs,  social 
dinners,  fairs  and  festivals,  lectures,  concerts,  and  games 44 


CONTENTS.  Hi 

CHAPTEK  VII. 

VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT    SOCIETIES. 

Benefit  of  associated  action. — Importance  of  some  organization. — May  be 
simple. — Name  unimportant. — Do  first  what  can  be  done  most  united- 
ly.— Plant  trees. — Make  walks. — Care  for  the  cemetery. — Avoid  at- 
tempting too  much  at  once. — One  thing  at  a  time. — Hasten  slowly. — 
Both  sexes  to  be  enlisted. — Refining  influence  of  woman Page  52 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    LAUREL    HILL    ASSOCIATION. 

Example  of  a  village-improvement  society. — Its  history  and  methods  of 
working. — Results. — Pecuniary  gain. — By-laws  and  regulations  of  the 
Association 60 

CHAPTEK  IX. 

TREES   AND   TREE-PLANTING. 

Trees  the  universal  charm  of  the  country. — Their  beauty,  grace,  and 
grandeur.  —  Pleasure  of  tree  -  planting.  —  Lord  Bacon's  testimony.  — 
Great  variety  of  trees  in  our  country. — Which  to  plant. — Varieties  at 
Washington. — Value  of  evergreens. — Beauty  of  the  hemlock. — How  to 
plant  trees. — Caution  against  over-planting. — Too  much  shade  to  be 
avoided. — Need  of  sunshine. — Space  for  growth  and  effect 71 

CHAPTER  X. 

VINES    AND   CLIMBING   PLANTS. 

Great  value  for  purposes  of  adornment. — Vine  the  emblem  of  grace  and 
beauty. — Adapted  to  all  places. — Great  variety  of  vines. — How  much 
a  vine  will  do  for  the  embellishment  of  a  place.— Climbing  roses. — 
Trumpet  creeper. — Wistaria. — Hop-vine. — Convolvulus. — Clematis. — 
Honeysuckle. — Virginia  creeper. — Woodbine. — Vines  for  indoor  cult- 
ure ;  for  screens SG 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

FRUITS    AND    FLOWERS. 

Flowers  a  sign  of  taste  and  culture. — Their  abundance. — Love  of  them 
to  be  encouraged. — Caution  against  cultivating  too  many  kinds. — A 
few  choice  ones  better  than  many  inferior. — Best  disposal  for  effect. — 
Avoid  unpleasant  contrasts  of  color. — Masses  on  a  lawn.— Mounds  and 
beds  of  intricate  pattern  to  be  avoided. — Indoor  cultivation. — Winter 
plants. — Cheerful  influence. — Flowers  types  of  beauty. — Good  fruit  al- 
ways in  demand. — No  danger  of  over-supply. — No  product  more  valu- 
able in  proportion  to  cost. — Conducive  to  health Page  95 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   COUNTRY   DWELLING-HOUSE. 

The  abode  of  human  beings. — Supreme  reference  to  be  had  to  this  in  its 
plan. — Limitations. — House  to  fit  the  inmates,  not  the  inmates  the 
house. — Family  should  indicate  its  character  by  the  house  it  lives  in. — 
Nautilus  or  periwinkle. — The  ideal  house. — Imitations  and  fashions. — 
Eccentricities. — Common-sense  the  first  requisite. — Location  as  affect- 
ing style. — Materials  to  be  used.  —  Site;  dampness  to  be  avoided. — 
Hill-side  desirable. — Southern  exposure  best. — Neighborhood  of  trees 
welcome. — Style;  simple  and  tasteful,  rather  than  ornate. — Nothing 
for  show;  everything  for  use. — Advice  of  architect  desirable,  even  for 
small  buildings. — Saving  thereby.  —  Color;  white  to  be  avoided. — 
Flan  to  be  thoroughly  considered. — Protection  from  cold  and  heat. — 
Ornament;  truthfulness.  —  Imitation.  — Shams.  —  Graining.  — Use  of 
woods  unpainted. — Costly  houses  out  of  place  in  the  country. — 
Homes  rather  than  show-places 108 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

FENCES    AND    HEDGES. 

Fences  not  pleasing  objects.— Great  expense  attending  them. — Statis- 
tics.— Unsocial. — Many  needless  fences.— Reasons  for  removing  them 


CONTENTS.  V 

from  near  houses. — Cattle  not  to  be  allowed  to  go  at  large. — Beauty 
gained  by  removal  of  street  fences. — Williamstown. — South  Manches- 
ter.— Greeley. — Hedges  of  two  kinds,  for  fences  and  for  screens. — 
Thorny  shrubs  and  evergreens. — Evergreens  preferable. — Hemlock. — 
Norway  Spruce. — Arbor-vitae. — How  to  make  a  hedge Page  134 

CHAPTER  XIY. 

LAWNS. 

Trees  and  grass  the  main  embellishment  of  a  country  place. — Common 
appearance  around  village  dwellings. — Wiiat  it  might  be. — Beauty  of  a 
lawn. — How  to  make  one. — Preparation  of  ground. — Kind  and  quanti- 
ty of  seed. — After-treatment. — Sheep  and  cattle  as  lawn-inowers. .  147 


WATER. 

Inadequate  use  of  this  element. — First  physical  need  of  life  an  abundance 
of  water. — Health  and  cleanliness. — ^Esthetic  value  of  water. — No 
landscape  complete  without  it. — Effect  of  even  small  streams. — Cas- 
cades and  fountains. — How  cheaply  attainable. — Mohammedan  baths 
and  mosques. 155 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

SANITARY   ASPECTS   OF   COUNTRY   LIFE. — DRAINAGE. 

The  country  has  been  considered  peculiarly  healthy. — Cities  now  in  many 
respects  more  healthy  than  the  country. — Reasons  for  this. — Preventa- 
ble causes  of  disease. — Typhoid  fever. — Lessening  of  the  death-rate  in 
London. — Great  improvement  in  drainage  there. — Fevers  now  more 
prevalent  in  the  country  than  in  cities. — Contamination  of  air  and  water; 
not  obvious  to  the  senses. — The  earth  as  a  filter. — Poisonous  wells. — 
Sinks  and  cesspools. — Slow  poisoning. — Death  not  the  greatest  evil. — 
Epidemics  not  so  destructive  of  life  as  many  ordinary  diseases. — Drains, 
how  to  be  made. — Illustrations...  .  164- 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

SANITARY   ASPECTS    OF   COUNTRY    LIFE    (continued}. 

VENTILATION. 

Drainage  and  ventilation  closely  connected. — Composition  of  the  atmos- 
phere.—  Respiration,  its  uses  and  effects. — Influence  of  trees  and 
plants  on  the  atmosphere. — Animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms  correlat- 
ed.— How  rapidly  air  may  be  contaminated. — Difficulty  of  detecting 
contamination. — Close  rooms. — Air-tight  stoves. — Carbonic  acid. — 
Weather-strips. — Decaying  vegetables  in  cellars. — Ventilating-flues. — 
Furnaces. — Dangers  to  be  avoided  in  their  use. — Open  fireplaces  the 
best  ventilators. — Franklin  stoves. — Instrument  for  indicating  impuri- 
ty of  the  air  Page  184 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SANITARY   ASPECTS   OF   COUNTRY    LIFE    (continued). — 
CARE   OF   THE    SICK. 

Physicians. — Hospitals. — Nurses. — Nurses  'often  more  important  than 
doctors. — The  nurse  the  physician's  best  assistant. — Power  of  recov- 
ery in  human  constitution. — Patients  often  killed  by  ignorant  kind- 
ness.— Sick-rooms,  what  they  are  and  what  they  should  be. — Furni- 
ture. —  Pictures.  • —  Plants.  —  Ventilation.  —  Change  of  scene  impor- 
tant.— Need  of  trained  nurses 199 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

CEMETERIES. 

Regard  for  the  bodies  of  the  dead  universal. — First  use  of  money  was  to 
buy  a  burial-place. — Abraham  and  Jacob. — Egypt  and  the  Pyramids. 
— God's  acre. — Death  a  sleep. — Modern  cemeteries. — What  may  be 
done  for  village  cemeteries. — Old  burial-grounds  often  a  disgrace. — 
Good  place  to  begin  village  improvement. — All  interested  in  the  com- 
mon burial-ground. — Evil  of  many  burial-places  in  one  village.  —  Ef- 
fort to  concentrate  care  and  attention  upon  one. — Laying  out  new 
cemeteries.  —  How  it  should  be  done. — Receiving -tombs. — Burial- 
services 207 


CONTENTS.  vii 

CHAPTER  XX. 

KOADS     AND     BRIDGKS. 

Roads  tokens  and  measures  of  civilization. — Few  good  roads  in  our 
country. — Bad  location  of  roads. — Effect  of  grade  on  draught. — Statis- 
tics.— Hills  and  levels. — Over  hills  or  around  them. — Economy  of 
easy  grades. — Material  of  roads. — Drainage  of  roads. — Proper  form  of 
surface. — Illustrations. — Embellishment  of  roads. — Trees  by  the  road- 
side.—  Street  parks.  —  Footways.  —  Pedestrianism  a  lost  art  in  the 
country.  —  Miss  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick.  —  Street  lamps.  —  Bridges; 
strength  the  first  requisite. — Bridges  frequently  ugly  objects. — Beauty 
may  be  combined  with  strength.  —  Bridges  in  Europe.  —  Rustic 
bridges Page  217 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

PRESERVATION   OF   WOODLANDS. 

Wasteful  and  rapid  consumption  of  forests. — Lumber  trade. — Consump- 
tion by  railroads,  furnaces,  arts,  and  manufactures. — Fencing  and  fuel. 
— Effect  of  destruction  of  trees  on  climate,  health,  and  agriculture. — 
Trees  as  screens  from  winds. — Equalizers  of  temperature. — Effect  on 
rainfall ;  on  the  flow  of  streams.  —  Removal  of  forests  a  cause  of 
floods  and  droughts. — Need  of  tree-planting. — Its  profitableness. — To 
be  encouraged  by  law. — Forestry. — How  this  matter  is  managed  in 
Europe. — Arbor  Day 241 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

SCHOOLS   AND   SCHOOL-HOUSES. 

The  old  school-house. — Its  site. — Little  comfort  in  it. — The  three  R's. — 
Importance  of  the  work  done  in  it. — Place  of  instruction  should  be 
beautiful. — The  teaching  should  be  the  best  possible. — Meaning  of 
education. — Proper  surroundings  of  the  school-house. — Pleasant  walks. 
— Trees  and  flowers.  —  Gardens. — Lowell  factories. — Pictures  and 
other  works  of  art  in  the  school-room. — Training  the  perceptive  pow- 
ers...  .  270 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEK  XXIII. 

THE    VILLAGE    CHURCH. 

The  church  as  it  often  is. — Little  architectural  beauty. — Site. — Exposed 
to  sun  and  wind. — Uncomfortable  and  cheerless. — What  is  done  in  the 
church. — How  much  worship  there. — Sensational  preaching. — Minister 
and  parish. — Loose  relation. — System  of  terrorism. — Minority  gov- 
erns.— Churches  managed  on  commercial  rather  than  religious  prin- 
ciples.— Picture  of  a  different  scene. — Building  simple  but  tasteful. — 
Walls  ivy-hung. — Interior  arrangements. — Order  and  style  of  services. 
— Precious  and  lasting  influence Page  282 

CHAPTEE  XXIY. 

THE     VILLAGE     LIBRARY. 

Secret  of  success  in  establishing  libraries. — A  good  start  important. — 
A  new  educating  influence  in  the  community. — Sketch  of  such  a  libra- 
ry.— Many  other  things  group  -around  it. — Lectures,  concerts,  reading 
and  social  rooms. — The  basis  of  a  village-improvement  society 295 

CHAPTEK  XXY. 

WORK   AND   PLAT. 

Americans  a  hard-worked  people. — Should  be  more  of  the  play  element. 
— More  in  our  systems  of  education. — Natural  sciences. — Relaxation  a 
duty. — Best  results  of  life  depend  upon  it. — Country  boys  broken  down 
by  over-work. — More  holidays  desirable. — Games  and  sports 307 

CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

OUR    VILLAGE    FESTIVAL. 

"  Thanksgiving  "  a  festival  of  best  character.  —  Pre-eminently  a  family 
festival. — Appropriate  symbol  of  the  family  spirit. — How  best  observed. 
—  Religion  the  crown  of  the  festivity. — Illustration.  —  Peculiarly  the 
village  festival 318 


"  Would  I  a  house  for  happiness  erect, 
Nature  alone  should  be  the  architect; 
She'd  build  it  more  convenient  than  great, 
And,  doubtless,  in  the  country  choose  her  seat." 

COVVLEY. 

"  In  those  vernal  seasons  of  the  year,  when  the  air  is  calm  and  pleas- 
ant, it  were  an  injury  and  sullenness  against  Nature  not  to  go  out  and  see 
her  riches,  and  partake  in  her  rejoicing  with  heaven  and  earth." 

MILTON:    Tractate  of 'Education. 


INTRODUCTION. 


"I  never  had  any  other  desire  so  strong  and  so  like  to  covetousness  as 
that  one  which  I  have  had  always — that  I  might  be  master  at  last  of  a 
small  house  and  large  garden,  with  very  moderate  conveniences  joined  to 
them,  and  there  dedicate  the  remainder  of  my  life  only  to  the  culture  of 
them,  and  study  of  nature ; 

And  there  (with  no  design  beyond  my  wall)  whole  and  intire  to  lie, 
In  no  unactive  ease,  and  no  unglorious  poverty." — COWLEY. 

THE  love  of  the  open  country,  the  fields,  the  woods, 
the  streams,  seems  to  be  a  peculiarly  Anglo-Saxon  trait, 
and  to  have  come  down  to  us  even  from  our  Teutonic 
ancestors.  The  historian  Tacitus,  in  his  Germania,  has 
noticed  the  difference  in  this  respect  between  the  peo- 
ple of  that  country  and  the  Eomans,  and  says  of  the 
former, "  They  live  apart,  each  by  himself,  as  woodside, 
plain,  or  fresh  spring  attracts  him."  But  it  is  in  Eng- 
land that  this  love  of  the  country  has  reached  the  high- 
est development.  The  Englishman  lives  in  the  town 
or  city  only  under  protest,  and  is  all  the  while  claiming 
the  country  as  his  true  home.  Our  people,  so  far  as 
they  are  of  English  descent,  have  the  same  inherited 
trait.  The  child  is  hardly  out  of  leading-strings  before 
he  fairlv  revels  in  the  scenes  of  rural  life,  if  he  has  the 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

opportunity;  and, though  this  delight  of  early  days  may 
be  seemingly  supplanted  by  the  occupations  or  pleasures 
of  maturer  years,  it  is  yet  very  sure  to  assert  itself  from 
time  to  time,  and  usually  with  a  strength  that  increases 
with  our  years.  To  many  a  one  chafed  by  the  cares 
and  anxieties  of  busy  life  in  the  city  or  town,  the  one 
hope  that  has  buoyed  him  up  and  enabled  him  to  keep 
a  cheerful  spirit  amid  his  struggles  has  been  that  of  a 
home  to  be  secured  by-and-by,  on  the  old  ancestral  farm, 
perhaps,  where  the  memory  of  boyish  days  and  boyish 
pleasures  exhales  a  perpetual  aroma ;  or,  on  some  other 
favored  spot,  where  he  may  look  out  upon  trees  and 
rocks  and  sky  and  clouds,  cultivate  his  acres  at  his  own 
will,  and,  after  the  gentle  and  unexciting  toils  of  the 
day,  be  lulled  to  rest  by  the 

"Liquid  lapse  of  murmuring  streams." 

And  is  it  not  the  token  of  man's  essential  kinship 
with  nature,  and  of  his  true  dignity,  that  he  has  such 
longings  for  the  aspects  of  natural  scenery ;  that  more 
and  more  he  cleaves  to  the  earth,  loves  to  press  the  sod 
with  his  feet  in  daily  tread,  and  to  engage,  though  it 
may  be  with  feeble  hand,  in  the  occupations  of  country 
life  ?  Is  there  not  the  manifestation  of  one  of  the  best 
feelings  of  his  nature  in  this  longing  in  his  advancing 
years — his  second  childhood,  as  we  call  it  — to  throw 
himself  again  upon  the  bosom  of  "Mother  Earth?" 
That  second  childhood  is  the  time  of  man's  return,  so 
commonly,  to  the  purity  and  healthfulness  of  feeling 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

which  are  the  special  mark  and  the  true  glory  of  our 
opening  days.  And  so,  though  it  may  sometimes  be 
accompanied  by  bodily  feebleness,  it  is  really  the  ripen- 
ed glory  of  life,  as  it  stands  calm  and  serene,  after  the 
manifold  discipline  of  earlier  and  more  active  years,  the 
successes  and  disappointments  which  have  attended  our 
various  occupations ;  when  we  have  learned  by  experi- 
ence what  is  essential  to  our  happiness  and  what  is  only 
adventitious ;  and  when  we  turn  from  the  personal  and 
selfish  conflicts  of  the  world  around  us,  and  find  pleas- 
ure in  the  kindred  openness  and  unselfishness  of  little 
children,  and  in  communion  with  nature,  and  through 
it  with  Him  who  framed  its  diverse  forms. 

It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  in  many  eases  we 
live  amid  the  beauties  and  glories  of  the  natural  world, 
but,  "  having  eyes,  see  not,"  or  only  half  see  at  the  best. 
"Ask  the  connoisseur,"  says  Ruskin,  "who  has  scam- 
pered over  all  Europe,  the  shape  of  the  leaf  of  an  elm, 
and  the  chances  are  ninety  to  one  that  he  cannot  tell 
you ;  and  yet  he  will  be  voluble  of  criticism  on  every 
painted  landscape  from  Dresden  to  Madrid,  and  pretend 
to  tell  you  whether  they  are  like  nature  or  not."  So 
we  have  known  a  whole  roomful  of  farmers,  and  farm- 
ers' wives  and  daughters,  to  puzzle  themselves  over  a 
bunch  of  common  corn-tassels  on  a  mantel,  utterly  un- 
able to  tell  what  they  were,  though  familiar  with  them  all 
their  lives.  It  was  simply  because  they  had  never  look- 
ed at  them  except  in  the  hazy,  indefinite  way  in  which 

so  many  look  at  most  things,  and  so  were  unable  to  rec- 

B 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

ognize  these  well-known  objects  when  removed  from 
the  cornfield  to  the  drawing-room.  These  are  only  a 
few  illustrations  of  a  very  common  defect — a  neglect 
to  use  faculties  aright — as  a  consequence  of  which  we 
fail  to  find  in  natural  objects  many  delights  which  they 
were  designed  to  afford  and  which  they  are  ready  to 
give  us. 

Everything,  therefore,  which  helps  us  to  see  nature 
with  appreciative  eyes  is  to  be  welcomed.  Much  has 
been  accomplished  in  recent  years  in  this  direction  by 
the  wide  diffusion,  through  the  press,  of  what  our  most 
tasteful  and  discriminating  writers  have  had  it  in  their 
hearts  to  say.  We  have  followed  our  poets  and  essay- 
ists into  the  fields  and  woods  and  along  the  sounding 
shore.  The  greatly  increased  facilities  of  travel,  also, 
have  brought  multitudes  into  the  presence  of  some  of 
the  most  impressive  natural  scenes,  and  wrought  upon 
them,  thereby,  a  lasting  and  precious  influence.  The 
pleasant  aspects  of  rural  life  have  thus  been  presented 
to  view,  and  an  interest  in  rural  scenes  has  been  awak- 
ened which  gives  promise  of  most  beneficial  results. 

If  the  following  essays  shall  help  any  to  a  better  ap- 
preciation of  country  life,  or  aid  in  making  that  life 
more  nearly  what  its  ideal  should  be,  the  object  of  the 
writer  will  be  gained. 

WILLIAMSTOWN,  MASS.,  June,  1878. 


VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

VILLAGE    LIFE   AS   IT   18  AND  AS   IT   SHOULD   BE. 

"For  it  is  not  in  great  cities  nor  in  the  confined  shops  of  trade,  but 
principally  in  agriculture,  that  the  best  stock  or  staple  of  men  is  grown. 
It  is  in  the  open  air — in  communion  with  the  sky,  the  earth,  and  all  liv- 
ing things — that  the  largest  inspiration  is  drunk  in,  and  the  vital  energies 
of  a  real  man  constructed.  The  modern  improvements  in  machinery 
have  facilitated  production  to  such  a  degree  that  when  they  become  dif- 
fused through  the  world,  only  a  few  hands,  comparatively,  will  be  requisite 
in  the  mechanic  arts ;  and  those  engaged  in  agriculture,  being  proportion, 
ally  more  numerous,  will  he  more  in  a.  condition  of  ease.  Here  opens  a 
new  and  sublime  hope.  If  a  state  can  maintain  the  practice  of  a  pure 
morality,  and  can  unite  with  agriculture  a  taste  for  learning  and  science 
and  the  generous  exercises  I  have  named,  a  race  of  men  will  ultimately 
be  raised  up  having  a  physical  volume,  a  native  majesty  and  force  of 
mind,  such  as  no  age  has  yet  produced." — BUSHNELL. 

HARDLY  any  one  can  pass  through  the  villages  of  the 
older  portions  of  our  country,  particularly  those  of  New 
England — in  the  warmer  seasons  of  the  year  especially, 
when  the  vegetation  is  in  its  freshness  and  luxuriance — 
without  being  impressed  by  their  general  beauty,  and 
feeling  that  many  of  them  are  choice  places  for  family 


12  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

homes.  The  happy  combination  of  hill  and  valley, 
mountain  and  plain ;  the  dense  masses  of  woods  crown- 
ing so  many  of  the  more  elevated  portions;  the  wide 
stretches  of  meadow  with  their  emerald  beauty ;  and  the 
great  abundance  of  streams  of  water,  from  the  broad 
rivers  to  the  almost  threadlike  springs  which  gush  out 
of  the  ground  at  such  brief  intervals,  these,  together 
with  a  reasonable  fertility  of  soil  —  a  fertility  which 
sufficiently  rewards  honest  industry  while  it  does  not  in- 
vite speculation  nor  encourage  idleness — and  a  climate 
which,  though  somewhat  rigorous,  is  probably  as  health- 
ful as  any,  combine  to  make  New  England  one  of  the 
choicest  dwelling-places  of  man.  If  to  these  we  add  the 
tokens  of  peculiar  civilization  and  culture  which  char- 
acterize New  England  —  the  influences  of  the  school- 
house  and  the  church,  which  have  been  felt  here  from 
the  beginning,  and  which  every  traveller  sees  and  feels, 
however  hurriedly  he  may  pass  along — we  shall  not  be 
wrong  in  thinking  that  few  places  on  the  globe  are  bet- 
ter fitted  to  furnish  homes  of  the  highest  type.  The 
fertile  plains  of  the  West  may  offer  the  prospect  of  a 
more  rapid  accumulation  of  wealth.  The  warmer  lati- 
tudes of  our  Southern  States  may  appeal  to  the  senses 
and  tempt  with  their  languid  charms,  but 

"  Man  is  the  nobler  growth  our  realms  supply, 
And  souls  are  ripened  in  our  northern  sky." 

It  was   something  besides   accident  that   swept  the 
Mayflower  from  her  destined  port  in  more  southern 


VILLAGE  LIFE  AS  IT  IS  AND  AS  IT  SHOULD  BE.   13 

waters  and  landed  her  precious  freight  of  souls  on  the 
coast  of  New  England,  there  to  plant  the  seeds  of  a 
civilization  that  was  to  overspread  a  continent.  Man 
comes  to  his  best  only  through  a  struggle ;  and  to  wres- 
tle with  storms  and  rocks  seems  to  be  about  the  best 
gymnastic  for  the  development  of  the  sturdiest  and 
most  effective  character.  The  man  who  has  his  home 
in  New  England  certainly  need  not  envy  the  dwellers 
in  other  places.  They  may  have  more  of  ease  in  their 
lot.  Their  fields  may  yield  a  larger  harvest  and  with 
less  demand  of  labor;  but  it  is  likely  to  be  at  the  ex- 
pense of  temptations  or  deprivations  which  more  than 
counterbalance  such  advantages.  "A  man's  life  con- 
sisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things  which  he 
possesseth."  It  is  the  quality,  not  the  quantity,  which 
decides  the  case. 

"  He  most  lives, 
Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best." 

Whatever  inspires  the  best  thought  and  feeling  is  to 
be  desired  rather  than  mere  fertility  of  soil  or  balminess 
of  air.  And  New  England  has,  in  her  character  and 
scenery,  as  well  as  in  her  institutions,  a  perpetual  stim- 
ulation of  what  is  best. 

But,  after  all,  our  village  life,  whether  in  New  Eng- 
land or  elsewhere,  is  not  yet  what  it  ought  to  be. 
Much  of  it  is  crude  and  low  and  gross.  We  have  not 
improved  our  advantages  as  we  might  and  should  have 
done.  Culture,  as  yet,  has  made  comparatively  little 
advancement.  The  school,  which  is  the  boast  of  our 


14  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

country,  has  not  yet  done  for  us  what  it  should  have 
done.  It  has  done  much ;  but  how  much  more  remains 
to  be  accomplished  before  we  can  claim  to  be  a  truly 
educated  people !  Then,  the  lessons  to  be  learned  in  the 
school  of  nature  have  been  learned  only  in  small  part. 
How  few  have  their  eyes  open  to  see  the  forms  and 
read  the  language  of  the  world  they  daily  live  in !  How 
little  impression  do  the  objects  of  nature  make  upon 
the  mass  of  people !  The  higher  faculties  of  the  soul 
too  often  lie  in  a  dormant  state.  We  wait  for  a  better 
time.  In  too  many  of  our  village  homes  the  life  is  of 
a  low  and  animal  type ;  the  energies  are  too  much  on 
a  level  with  those  of  the  cattle.  It  is  too  often  a  dig- 
ging drudgery  for  the  sake  of  food  or  for  the  accumu- 
lation of  money,  unrelieved  by  any  higher  object  or  the 
cultivation  of  the  refining  tastes.  The  body  is  cared 
for,  while  the  mind  and  heart  are  neglected.  Books  are 
few  and  too  commonly  of  the  trashy  sort.  Or  if  there 
is  any  waking-up  of  the  mind,  it  is  in  being  sharp  at 
a  bargain.  We  are  often  far  more  ready  to  overreach 
than  we  are  to  help  a  fellow-man ;  and  many  a  father 
will  be  found  to  give  indubitable  signs  of  pleasure  at 
seeing  his  child  get  the  better  of  another  by  some  trick 
of  shrewdness  or  audacity.  It  argues  a  capacity  in  the 
child  to  get  on  in  the  world,  and  that,  in  the  estimation 
of  many,  is  the  chief  end  of  man.  Meantime  the  soft- 
er, gentler  feelings  are  hardly  thought  worthy  of  culti- 
vation ;  the  finer  tastes  are  not  developed ;  and  the  child 
grows  up  too  often  a  dull,  hard,  selfish  man ;  his  whole 


VILLAGE  LIFE  AS  IT  IS  AND  AS  IT  SHOULD  BE.    15 

life  "of  the  earth,  earthy,"  when  it  might  be  all  the 
while  so  much  higher,  better,  and  happier. 

And  so,  in  the  cases  where  our  village  life  has  reach- 
ed a  superior  development,  how  charming  is  the  sight ! 
Some  simple  little  cottage,  lacking  even  paint,  it  may 
be,  but  wearing  the  look  of  neatness  all  about  it,  needs 
no  opening  of  the  door  to  tell  that  all  is  neatness  within. 
A  few  flowers  under  the  window,  an  unmistakable  look 
of  thoughtfulness  and  tender  feeling  stamped  upon  ev- 
erything, even  upon  the  grass  in  the  door-yard — how 
much  more  delightful  is  the  sight  of  such  a  place  than 
that  of  so  many  of  our  ambitious  houses,  set  up  in  their 
stilted  fashion,  unmeaning  masses  of  brickwork  and 
carpentry,  the  bold  advertisements  of  newly  acquired 
riches,  as  vulgar  as  they  are  expensive !  And  then, 
when  one  goes  within  such  an  unpretending  cottage, 
and  finds  it  at  once  the  home  of  mind  and  heart — 
everything  plain  and  simple,  perhaps,  but  taste  making 
all  beautiful,  and,  with  more  than  the  power  of  Midas, 
converting  everything  it  touches  into  something  better 
than  gold ;  when  he  finds  only  a  few  books,  it  may  be, 
but  these  of  solid  character,  and  evidently  for  use  rather 
than  show,  and  the  talk  not  vulgar  gossip  or  neighbor- 
hood scandal,  but  of  a  character  thoughtful  and  elevat- 
ing, pure  and  good — one  feels  how  precious  to  the  coun- 
try and  the  world  are  such  homes. 

If  our  village  homes  were  generally  of  this  character, 
what  a  renovated  country  would  ours  be!  If  even  a 
majority  of.  the  houses  in  any  of  our  country  villages 


16  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

were  really  homes  such  as  we  have  just  sketched,  how 
changed  and  heightened  in  character  would  the  life  of 
such  a  .village  become !  The  many  petty  jealousies  and 
causes  of  dispute  which  now  so  commonly  exist,  follow- 
ed, as  they  so  frequently  are,  by  open  animosities  and 
disgraceful  quarrels,  would  be  prevented  by  the  preva- 
lence of  a  general  kindliness  of  feeling,  and  a  mutual 
regard  for  each  other's  interests  in  place  of  the  selfish- 
ness which  now  so  often  reigns.  The  village  households 
would  become,  so  to  speak,  members  of  a  larger  family 
— the  village  family — and  a  common  interest  and  com- 
mon feeling  would  characterize  the  place  and  regulate 
the  style  and  tonp  of  life,  while  yet  leaving  the  freest 
play  for  individual  tastes  and  feelings.  In  such  a  com- 
munity a  thousand  good  influences  would  surround  the 
young  from  the  beginning,  and  give  them  such  helps 
towards  a  noble  spirit  of  life  that  their  advancement 
in  character  would  be  sure  and  rapid.  Many  sources  of 
entertainment  and  improvement  would  be  found  in  such 
a  community  which  in  others  are  almost  unknown,  and 
life  would  become  a  nobler,  sweeter,  happier  thing  than 
it  is  or  can  be  in  most  communities  as  they  now  are. 

And  so,  perhaps,  we  shall  be  thought  to  be  wasting 
time  upon  an  ideal  which  is  never,  or  at  best  only  in 
the  far-away  distance,  to  become  real.  But  if  that  ideal 
is  only  to  be  realized,  if  at  all,  at  some  distant  time,  this 
should  not  prevent  us  from  doing  something  to  secure 
the  fruits  which  lie  in  that  direction.  Here  is  a  man, 
for  instance,  who  has  the  reputation  of  being  a  good 


VILLAGE  LIFE  AS  IT  IS  AND  AS  IT  SHOULD  BE.    17 

farmer.  He  has  been  diligent  and  industrious.  He 
prides  himself  on  raising  as  good  crops  as  any  of  his 
neighbors,  and  his  fields  are  kept  in  good  condition. 
He  is  not  ashamed  to  have  them  looked  at.  And  as  the 
result  of  his  labor  he  has  a  handsome  sum  laid  away  in 
the  bank,  or  where  it  is  equally  safe.  But  perhaps  in 
his  busy  industry  upon  the  farm,  the  surroundings  of 
his  house  have  been  somewhat  forgotten.  Perhaps  the 
sight  which  meets  his  eyes,  and  the  eyes  of  his  family, 
most  frequently  is  that  of  a  door-yard  filled  with  the 
waste  material  of  farm  and  house,  with  carts  and  ploughs, 
some  serviceable,  and  some  for  many  years  past  use;  with 
unsightly  heaps  of  wood. and  chips  lying  about  in  dis- 
orderly confusion.  There  are,  it  may  be,  no  convenient 
walks  by  which  one  can  get  to  the  well  with  comfort,  or 
to  the  road  when  the  rain  has  been  falling  or  the  dew  is 
heavy  on  the  sward.  Perhaps  the  ground  about  the 
house  shows  a  growth  of  weeds  rather  than  grass.  The 
fences,  it  may  be,  are  not  kept  in  as  good  repair  just 
around  the  dwelling  as  they  are  out  upon  the  farm,  where 
the  protection  of  the  crops  seems  more  to  demand  them. 
The  gates,  seldom  closed,  have  fallen  down.  In  short, 
there  is  about  the  house  of  this  well-to-do  and  successful 
farmer  an  air  of  neglect  and  carelessness.  Things  look 
untidy.  The  poultry,  and  possibly  the  pigs,  have  free 
range  of  the  door-yard,  and  there  is  no  place  where  the 
wife  and  daughters  can  go  and  sit  down  comfortably 
out-of-doors  in  pleasant  weather  when  the  household 
work  is  done.  They  are  fairly  imprisoned  at  home. 


18  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

Can  there  not  be  an  improvement  here?  A  few  days' 
work  in  the  autumn  season,  after  the  harvest  toil  is  over, 
or  in  early  springtime,  before  other  work  presses,  would 
change  many  such  places  for  the  better.  Let  there  be 
a  determination  that  the  home  of  the  family  shall  at 
least  look  as  well  as  the  home  for  the  cattle.  Let  the 
unsightly  bushes  and  weeds  in  the  fence  corners  be 
cut  away  and  rooted  up,  so  that  they  shall  not  appear 
again  another  year.  Let  the  pigs  and  the  poultry  go  to 
their  own  place.  Let  the  ruins  of  old  carts  and  wagons, 
ploughs  and  scrapers,  be  broken  up  and  conveyed  to  the 
wood-pile  and  the  receptacle  for  .old  iron.  Let  the  wood 
and  chips  be  gathered  and  properly  housed.  Let  the 
rubbish  of  any  and  every  sort  be  removed  to  its  ap- 
propriate place.  Let  trees  and  shrubs  be  planted,  and 
the  green  grass  be  invited  to  grow,  where  now  perhaps 
only  dock  and  plantain  thrive.  Let  a  few  roses  and 
vines  be  set  within  easy  reach  of  doors  and  windows. 
How  soon  will  such  touches  of  taste  and  care  change 
the  whole  aspect  of  the  place,  and  change  perhaps  the 
character  of  the  occupants  as  well !  for  the  cultivation 
of  our  grounds  is  often  a  cultivation  of  ourselves. 

It  is  an  easy  step,  also,  from  the  improvement  of 
one's  immediate  surroundings  to  the  endeavor  to  do 
something  for  the  entire  village  where  one  lives.  But 
in  regard  to  what  is  desirable,  both  for  the  individual 
and  for  the  community  as  a  whole,  we  shall  speak 
more  at  large  in  subsequent  chapters. 


TOWN  AND  COUNTRY.  19 


CHAPTER  II. 

TOWN    AND    COUNTRY. 
"God  the  first  garden  made,  and  the  first  city  Cain.'' — COWLEY. 

THE  pointed  contrast  between  life  in  the  open  coun- 
try and  life  in  the  city,  set  forth  in  the  above  quotation 
from  one  of  our  elder  poets  and  essayists,  has  been  made 
by  many  another  writer.  Indeed,  it  is  one  of  the  com- 
monplaces of  literature.  We  may  trace  it  all  the  way 
from  Cowper's 

"God  made  the  country,  and  man  made  the  town;" 

and  Lord  Bacon's  opening  of  his  "Essay  on  Gardens" 
with  the  words  "  God  Almighty  first  planted  a  garden," 
up  to  old  Varro,  who,  in  his  De  Re  Rustica,  says,  "  Di- 
mna  natura  dedit  agros,  ars  humana  cedificavit  urbes" 
Essayists,  poets,  travellers,  and  philosophers  alike  have 
been  wont  to  pay  tribute  to  the  charms  and  attractions 
of  the  country  as  compared  with  the  scenes  of  city  life. 
Every  schoolboy  who  has  gained  admission  to  college  is 
familiar  with  the  "Beatus  ille  qui  procul  negotiis"  of 
Horace ;  and  it  is  almost  the  singularity  of  the  many- 
sided  Macaulay  that  he  seems  to  have  cared  little  for  the 
aspects  of  external  nature,  content  if  he  could  be  allowed 


20  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

to  live  in  London,  and  walk  from  day  to  day  the  old  his- 
toric streets  and  courts  of  the  "  City,"  or  busy  himself 
amid  the  books  and  manuscripts  of  the  British  Museum. 
A  poet  himself  has  said  that  "Poetry  was  born  among 
the  shepherds,"  and  that  "  one  might  as  well  undertake 
to  dance  in  a  crowd  as  to  make  good  verses  in  the  midst 
of  noise  and  tumult." 

And  yet,  with  all  literature  and  philosophy  against  it, 
there  is  a  large  and  ever-increasing  practical  vote  in  fa- 
vor of  the  town  as  a  place  of  living.  Yery  good  peo- 
ple, also,  some  of  the  best  and  most  intelligent,  seem  to 
prefer  the  man-made  town,  to  the  God-made  country. 
There  is,  moreover,  a  manifest  and  increasing  tendency 
of  population  to  concentrate  in  towns  and  cities.  One 
third  of  the  people  of  our  new  and  essentially  agricultur- 
al country  are  already  thus  gathered.  The  growth  of 
towns  and  cities  is  disproportionately  rapid  as  compared 
with  that  of  the  villages  and  hamlets  of  the  open  country. 
And  this  is  the  fact  not  only  with  us,  but  with  many 
older  nations.  London  and  Berlin  never  before  were 
growing  so  rapidly  as  now.  The  same  is  true  of  other 
European  cities  —  cities  which  have  no  such  ample 
spaces  around  them  as  ours  have,  no  such  spaces  from 
which  to  draw  their  population,  and  in  supplying  the 
wants  of  whose  people  they  may  find  a  sustaining 
market  for  the  commodities  of  their  mercantile  and 
manufacturing  industries. 

Nor  is  it,  with  us,  the  new  towns  and  cities  of  the 
West  merely  that  are  making  disproportionate  growth 


TOWN  AND  COUNTRY.  21 

in  population,  but  the  oldest  cities  of  the  East  are  show- 
ing a  like  rapid  increase.  New  York,  Boston,  and  Phil- 
adelphia are  populating  themselves  more  rapidly  than 
the  country  around  them,  as  truly  as  Chicago  and  San 
Francisco.  Indeed,  so  strong  is  the  flow  from  the  coun- 
try to  the  cities  and  manufacturing  towns,  especially  in 
New  England,  that  in  many  of  the  country  districts 
there  is  not  only  a  comparatively  slow  growth  of  popu- 
lation, but  an  actual  decline.  The  sight  is  only  too  com- 
mon, and  painful  as  it  is  common,  among  our  Eastern 
villages,  of  houses  going  to  decay  or  actually  fallen  down, 
with  none  to  take  their  place.  The  people  who  once 
dwelt  in  them  have  left  them,  and  no  children  of  theirs 
have  come  in  their  stead.  The  farms,  once  teeming 
with  grain  and  cattle,  are  now,  in  many  cases,  over- 
grown with  bushes  or  young  forests,  or  only  partly  kept 
under  cultivation  by  some  immigrant  from  Ireland,  Ger- 
many, or  Canada,  who  has  bought  them  because  they 
were  cheap,  and  too  undesirable  to  find  any  other  pur- 
chaser. 

The  last  census  has  made  some  surprising  revelations 
in  this  respect.  The  population  of  our  hill-towns  es- 
pecially seems  to  have  slidden  down,  in  large  measure, 
into  the  valleys,  along  whose  streams  have  grown  up  im- 
portant centres  of  manufacture.  As  a  consequence,  not 
only  have  many  of  the  older  villages  not  held  their  own 
in  population,  but  they  have  lost  in  character  as  well  as 
in  people.  The  more  enterprising  having  gone  away, 
all  the  movements  of  society  become  less  vigorous  in 


22  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

consequence.  There  is  less  wealth,  therefore  less  ex- 
penditure upon  roads,  upon  houses  and  buildings  of 
every  kind,  upon  schools  and  churches,  upon  books  and 
papers,  and  in  travel  and  intercourse  with  other  places, 
which  is  such  a  fruitful  source  of  intelligence.  All 
these  educating  and  civilizing  forces  are  lessened  in 
quantity,  if  not  entirely  lost.  So,  there  will  no  longer 
be  found  rising  up  in  such  a  place  from  time  to  time,  as 
formerly,  one  and  another  fit  to  stand  as  leaders  in  so- 
ciety, and  to  have  an  influence  reaching  perhaps  far  be- 
yond the  local  limits  of  the  place.  There  will  be  no 
skilful  lawyer  or  wise  magistrate,  no  highly  cultivated 
clergyman,  fit  to  be  looked  up  to  as  an  authority  in  all 
matters  of  general  knowledge  as  well  as  in  his  special 
professional  studies.  The  place  can  no  longer,  by  its 
character,  or  the  compensation  which  it  offers,  attract  the 
presence  or  command  the  services  of  such.  The  great 
law  of  supply  and  demand  rules  here  as  elsewhere,  and 
forbids  it.  And  this  decay  once  begun,  the  tendency  of 
things  becomes  strong  in  this  direction.  For  a  time  the 
influence  of  certain  families  of  culture  and  of  wealth 
may  successfully  resist  the  downward  course  of  things, 
and  hold  up  the  life  and  spirit  of  the  village.  But  it  is 
only  for  a  few  years.  The  next  generation  will  very 
likely  feel  the  downward  drag  of  the  community  around 
them  too  severe  to  be  longer  endured,  and  sons  and 
daughters,  though  loath  to  leave  the  consecrated  home 
scenes,  will  take  their  departure  to  more  congenial 
places. 


TOWN   AND   COUNTRY.  23 

And  now  there  will  be  less  to  hold  any  to  the  place. 
The  depopulation  will  go  on  with  accelerated  speed. 
Family  after  family  will  disappear.  Their  places,  if  fill- 
ed at  all,  will  probably  be  tilled  with  aliens,  with  people 
of  a  lower  grade  of  culture,  and  such  as  have  no  ties  of 
relationship  or  of  historical  connection  with  the  place 
which  might  form  a  bond  of  union  with  the  existing 
society.  Thus  the  attractions  of  social  interest  are  less- 
ened all  the  while.  Social  life  stagnates.  The  place  is 
no  longer  a  community  as  it  once  was,  but  a  loose  ag- 
gregation of  individual  atoms,  as  it  were,  each  living  by, 
and  for,  and  in  himself.  There  is  no  longer  any  esprit 
de  corps,  such  as  there  should  be  in  any  community, 
making  it  an  occasion  of  pride  to  every  resident  there 
that  he  can  say  that  it  is  his  home.  In  fact,  it  will 
sometimes  be  found  that  the  process  of  decline  has  gone 
so  far,  and  the  change  become  so  great,  in  some  of  our 
once  honored  villages,  that  the  present  inhabitants  seem 
at  the  best  but  dwarfs  and  pigmies  under  the  great 
name  of  the  place  where  they  live,  and  where  great 
men  and  noble  women  once  dwelt. 

Such  is  the  tendency  to  check  the  growth  of  many  of 
our  villages ;  and  as  this  is  checked  by  emigration,  the 
growth  of  the  larger  towns  and  cities  is  proportionally 
increased.  They  are  the  receptacles  not  only  of  the  en- 
terprising, but  of  the  discontented  and  dissatisfied.  So, 
in  addition  to  those  who  may  be  said  to  be  needed  for 
the  proper  life  and  work  of  the  city,  or  the  trading  and 
manufacturing  town,  there  is  a  large  inflow  upon  them 


24  VILLAGES   AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

of  those  who  are  not  needed,  who  crowd  every  avenue 
of  industry,  make  life  a  hot  competition  for  gain,  and 
even  a  struggle  for  very  existence,  and  many  of  whom, 
in  the  end,  become  a  burden  upon  society,  if  not  an  ab- 
solute danger  to  it. 

Life  burns  fast  in  the  crowded  city  and  the  busy  mart. 
These  places  must  be  recruited  from  the  open  country. 
But  more  recruits  offer  than  are  wanted.  More  recruits 
offer  than  will  fill  the  ranks.  There  is  a  large  mass 
gathered  in  every  such  place,  who  can  only  be  mere 
camp-followers,  a  poor,  or  rough  and  lawless  set,  who 
live  upon  the  waste  or  the  plunder  of  the  great  moving 
and  effective  army. 


A  DOUBLE  INJURY.  25 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    DOUBLE    INJUKY. 

"In  town  one  can  find  the  swimming-school,  the  gymnasium,  the  danc- 
ing-master, the  shooting-gallery,  opera,  theatre,  and  panorama ;  the  chem- 
ist's shop,  the  museum  of  natural  history,  the  gallery  of  fine  arts ;  the 
national  orators,  in  their  turn;  foreign  travellers,  the  libraries,  and  his 
club.  In  the  country  he  can  find  solitude  and  reading,  manly  labor,  cheap 
living,  and  his  old  shoes ;  moors  for  game,  hills  for  geology,  and  groves 
for  devotion. " — EMERSON. 

IT  is  easy  to  see  that  the  tendency  of  which  we 
have  been  speaking  in  the  previous  chapter  works  a 
double  harm.  The  country  is  depopulated  ;  the  city 
and  town  are  overcrowded.  The  proper  balance  of 
population,  and  so  the  proper  adjustment  of  life,  of 
business,  and  of  society,  is  lost.  Life  is  not  so  desir- 
able either  in  city  or  country  as  it  otherwise  would 
be.  In  the  city,  and  largely  because  of  the  overcrowd- 
ing, it  is  feverish  and  frivolous,  and,  sometimes,  fero- 
cious. The  extremes  of  good  and  evil  there  meet. 
In  the  country,  on  the  other  hand,  life  is  often  dull 
and  enfeebled  and  greatly  deficient  in  the  social  ele- 
ment. The  great  expanses  of  the  country  want  more 
people,  or  more  contact  of  the  people  with  each  other. 
The  city,  also,  wants  the  country.  It  is  dependent 
upon  it  for  its  very  existence.  In  its  rapid  consump- 

C 


26  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

tion  of  life,  it  must  draw  from  the  country  a  supply 
of  fresh  mind  and  muscle  which  it  cannot  produce 
from  itself ;  and  it  must  have  the  products  of  open 
field  and  forest,  and  of  the  mineral  deposits  of  the 
wide  country,  to  furnish  the  staple  of  its  trade  and 
manufacture.  The  country,  also,  needs  the  city.  It 
needs  it  as  the  ultimate  market  for  its  surplus  prod- 
ucts, as  the  place  of  exchange  by  means  of  which  the 
productions  of  one  clime  or  one  continent  are  made 
the  possible  possession  of  every  other,  and  by  which 
the  cottager  of  Yermont  or  of  Oregon  may  make  the 
whole  world  tributary  to  his  daily  comfort.  The 
country  needs  the  city  also  for  the  stimulating  power 
of  its  concentrated  enterprise,  its  quick  and  intelli- 
gent action,  its  speedy  reception  and  utilization  of 
every  new  thought  and  every  wise  plan.  Great  na- 
tional undertakings  are  dependent  very  much  upon 
great  cities  and  towns.  The  country  villages  of  New 
York  would  never  have  built  the  Erie  Canal,  though 
all  felt  its  desirableness  as  a  means  of  getting  the 
products  of  their  fields  and  forests  to  market.  Our 
villages  would  never  have  given  us  the  Pacific  Rail- 
road or  the  Atlantic  Telegraph.  They  would  never 
have  given  us  the  daily  newspaper,  or  the  daily  me- 
teorological reports  of  the  Signal  Service  Bureau,  for 
which  he  who  ploughs  the  open  sea,  and  he  who 
ploughs  the  open  field,  look  daily  with  expectant  in- 
terest. They  would  never  have  originated,  certainly 
never  have  earned  on  with  efficiency,  our  great  mis- 


A  DOUBLE  INJURY.  27 

sionary  and  philanthropic  enterprises.  The  Ameri- 
can Board  of  Foreign  Missions,  or  any  of  our  Home 
Missionary  Societies,  would  die,  or  dwindle  to  a  feeble- 
ness next  to  death,  if  they  were  dependent  for  success 
upon  their  village  supporters  alone.  The  mainspring 
of  these,  and  of  all  great  enterprises,  is  in  the  populous, 
busy  town  or  city.  It  is  our  merchant  princes  by 
whom  these  are  originated  or  pushed  forward.  It  is 
they  who  send  our  commerce  to  the  ends  of  the  world, 
who  cover  continents  with  iron  highways,  and  with 
their  telegraphic  wires  fulfil  the  promise  of  Puck — 

"I'll  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes." 

It  is  they,  largely,  who  endow  our  colleges  and  schools 
of  highest  grade,  who  push  geographical  research,  if 
possible,  even  to  the  poles,  and  who  are  ready  to  send 
the  Gospel  of  Christ  wherever  the  most  adventurous 
explorer  shall  find  a  fellow-man. 

Let  us  not  forget,  then,  in  our  love  of  the  country, 
or  when  we  hear  its  praises  spoken,  how  much  all  owe 
to  the  city  and  the  busy  town.  Let  us  not  forget  what 
treasures  of  power,  of  wealth,  of  civilization,  of  enter- 
prise, of  art,  of  science,  of  philanthropy,  and  of  religion 
are  garnered  up  in  such  a  metropolis  as  New  York  or 
London.  Why,  they  are  worlds  in  themselves.  The 
whole  earth  is  there  in  miniature.  It  is  easy  to  talk 
of  cities  as  being  "great  sores"  and  the  like;  to  say 
they  are  slums  of  foulness,  haunts  of  vice  and  crime ; 


28  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

to  point  to  their  thousands  of  paupers,  and  their  thou- 
sands more  ready  for  any  violence  and  to  prey  like 
tigers  upon  the  peace  and  order  of  society.  It  is  easy, 
also,  and  too  common,  to  talk  of  the  purity  and  inno- 
cence of  those  who  dwell  in  the  open  country,  when  it 
may  be  questioned  whether,  if  the  same  number  of 
people  in  the  country  as  compose  the  city's  population 
were  to  be  suddenly  confined  to  the  city's  space,  and 
their  character  and  conduct  as  closely  scrutinized,  there 
would  not  be  found  as  much  of  evil  as  among  the  ha- 
bitual residents  of  the  city,  though  not,  perhaps,  in  the 
same  forms.  Says  the  author  of  "  Recreations  of  a 
Country  Parson,"  "I  have  long  since  found  that  the 
country,  in  this  nineteenth  century,  is  by  no  means  a 
scene  of  Arcadian  innocence ;  that  its  apparent  sim- 
plicity is  sometimes  dogged  stupidity ;  that  men  lie 
and  cheat  in  the  country  just  as  much  as  in  the  town ; 
and  that  the  country  has  even  more  of  mischievous  tit- 
tle-tattle ;  that  sorrow  and  care  and  anxiety  may  quite 
well  live  in  Elizabethan  cottages  grown  over  with 
honeysuckle  and  jasmine,  and  that  very  sad  eyes  may 
look  forth  from  windows  round  which  roses  twine. 
People  may  pace  up  and  down  a  country  lane,  be- 
tween fragrant  hedges  of  blossoming  hawthorn,  and 
tear  their  neighbors'  characters  to  very  shreds."  Cer- 
tainly we  could  not  do  without  our  cities  except  at  the 
peril  of  almost  all  that  distinguishes  our  present  life 
from  that  of  the  Dark  Ages.  Our  civilization,  with 
all  that  we  include  in  that  term,  what  is  it,  as  the  very 


A  DOUBLE  INJURY.  £9 

word  tells  us,  but  the  character  which  properly  belongs 
to  the  civis — the  one  who  lives  in  the  city  ? 

While,  therefore,  we  deplore  the  tendency  to  leave 
the  country  for  the  city,  so  far  as  it  results  in  the  de- 
pletion of  the  country  and  the  overcrowding  of  cities 
and  towns,  and  the  disturbance  of  the  proper  balance 
between  them,  and  while  the  object  of  our  writing  is 
to  do  something,  if  possible,  to  counteract  this,  it  will 
not  be,  we  trust,  out  of  any  lack  of  appreciation  of  the 
importance  of  the  city,  or  the  peculiar  and  unequalled 
privileges  which  it  holds  in  possession. 


30  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CAUSES   OF   OVEK-POPULATING   OF   TOWNS. 

"  Man  in  society  is  like  a  flower 
Blown  in  its  native  bed ;  'tis  there  alone 
His  faculties,  expanded  in  full  bloom, 
Shine  out ;  there  only  reach  their  proper  use." 

COWPER. 

"Plain  living  and  high  thinking  are  no  more." 

WORDSWORTH. 

Lsr  looking  for  the  causes  which  occasion  the  strong 
tendency  of  population  towards  the  city  or  town,  and 
the  readiness  to  forsake  the  country  for  them,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  business  considerations  alone  are  not  suffi- 
cient to  account  for  it.  The  demands,  or  the  possibil- 
ities even,  of  trade  would  not  draw  the  masses  so 
strongly  to  the  city,  nor  would  the  prospect  of  in- 
creased gain  lead  them  in  such  crowds  to  the  manu- 
facturing town.  Of  course,  cities  and  trading  and 
manufacturing  towns  are  naturally  built  up  as  the 
country  around  them  grows.  They  are  places  for  the 
exchange  or  manufacture  of  the  products  of  the  soil. 
They  can  exist  only  as  these  first  exist.  This  is  their 
foundation,  and  they  should  grow  as  the  country  grows 
in  population  and  productiveness.  But,  as  we  have 


CAUSES  OF  OVER-POPULATING  OF  TOWNS.         31 

seen,  and  as  is  only  too  apparent  to  every  one,  cities 
and  towns  are  growing  far  more  rapidly  than  the 
country,  and  at  the  expense  of  the  villages,  as  well  as 
to  the  detriment  of  the  cities  and  towns  themselves. 
The  reasons  of  this  lie  deeper  than  the  simple  induce- 
ments of  trade. 

If  those  who  come  from  their  city  homes  as  tem- 
porary visitors  to  the  country,  or  even  a  majority  of 
those  whose  habitual  residence  is  in  the  country,  were 
asked  to  characterize  country  life  by  a  single  word,  they 
would  pronounce  it  dull.  The  occasional  visitor  from 
the  city  finds  the  change  so  great  that  life  in  the  coun- 
try has  for  a  time  the  zest  of  novelty  and  striking  con- 
trast. All  scenes  and  habits  are  new.  There  is  a 
piquancy  and  flavor  in  everything  that  for  a  while  de- 
lights. The  commonest  things  provoke  attention  be- 
cause new.  But  this  soon  passes  away,  and  he  begins 
to  weary  of  the  new  scenes  and  objects.  Our  city 
guests  of  the  summer,  for  the  most  part,  are  so  ready 
to  bid  good-bye  to  the  country  that  they  willingly  lose 
the  most  charming  portion  of  the  country  year,  the 
ripening  days  of  autumn,  when  the  heats  are  lessened 
and  the  fruits  are  offering  their  luscious  juices  and 
delicate  aromas,  and  the  trees  are  ready  to  march  out, 
like  a  bannered  army,  in  all  their  gorgeous  array  of 
color.  And  how  often  does  the  man  who  goes  to 
build  his  villa  in  the  country  tire  of  it  in  a  year  or 
two,  and  go  back  to  his  city  home  !  As  he  returns 
he  finds  himself  moving  also  with  the  tide,  whereas  be- 


32  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

fore  lie  had  been  struggling  against  it.  There  is  a  gen- 
eral pressing  from  country  to  city.  The  young  men 
are  eagerly  looking  for  any  employment  that  will  take 
them  from  the  farm.  They  jump  at  the  chance  of 
leaving  a  good  home,  where  friends  and  food  and 
clothing  are  abundant,  for  the  store,  where  they  may 
sell  dry-goods  or  groceries  at  a  salary  which  will  not 
enable  them  to  live  with  comfort,  if  with  decency. 
Young  women  will  stitch  all  day,  and  evening  too,  in 
a  milliner's  shop,  and  sleep  in  a  garret,  rather  than  give 
themselves  to  the  wholesome  work  of  housekeeping  in 
the  country.  Not  the  smallest  or  poorest -paid  situa- 
tion in  town  or  city  offers  but  a  hundred  are  ready  to 
take  it,  while  it  is  a  matter  of  the  greatest  difficulty  to 
procure  competent  farm-laborers  or  tolerable  domestic 
service  for  the  country  household.  If  you  ask  these 
people  why  they  are  so  eager  for  the  town,  and  so 
ready  to  leave  the  country,  their  answer,  when  you 
fairly  get  it,  is,  the  country  is  dull.  And  by  country 
they  mean  life  in  the  country,  not  the  visible,  material 
world.  The  country,  as  a  physical  thing,  is  not  dull  or 
uninteresting.  In  contrast  with  the  uniform  streets 
and  blocks  of  the  city  or  large  town,  the  country  is 
infinitely  varied  and  picturesque,  and  full  of  the  charm 
of  new  and  beautiful  objects. 

"  There  are  flowers  in  the  meadow, 
There  are  clouds  in  the  sky, 
Songs  pour  from  the  woodland, 
The  waters  glide  hy  ; 


CAUSES  OF  OVER-POPULATING  OF  TOWNS.         33 

Too  many,  too  many 

For  eye  or  for  ear, 

The  sights  that  we  see, 

And  the  sounds  that  we  hear." 


It  is  not  the  country,  physically  considered,  that  is 
dull,  but  country  life — the  life  of  the  people  who  live 
in  the  country.  Their  life  is  not  in  keeping  with  the 
material  world  around  them.  It  is  not,  in  a  large 
majority  of  instances,  what  life  in  such  a  situation 
ought  to  be.  We  throw  out  of  account,  of  course,  the 
life  of  the  pioneer,  the  man  who  is  just  hewing  himself 
a  lodging-place  in  the  forest  or  breaking  up  the  soil  of 
the  prairie  now  for  the  first  time.  The  attractions  of 
place  or  of  society  are  little  to  be  considered  in  such 
circumstances.  We  speak  of  established  communities. 
And  it  cannot  be  denied  that  in  many,  if  not  in  most, 
of  our  country  villages  the  spirit  and  usages  of  society 
are  dull.  There  is  a  heavy  weight  upon  the  general 
life,  which  presses  fearfully  upon  the  spirits  of  the 
young  especially.  The  movement  of  things  in  the 
country  is  like  that  of  the  cattle,  sluggish.  It  may  be 
sure  ;  it  may  tend,  on  the  whole,  in  the  right  direction. 
So  does  that  of  the  cattle.  But  this  is  the  day  of  roads 
and  of  the  locomotive,  and  the  sound  of  these  is  in  the 
air  and  echoing  among  the  hills  and  valleys,  even  when 
they  are  not  in  sight.  The  young  hear  it,  if  the  old  do 
not,  and  it  stimulates  a  quickened  movement  in  them, 
or  the  desire  to  be  where  a  quickened  movement  will 
be  possible  to  them. 


34:  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

Life  in  the  country  may  be  in  general  on  the  side  of 
good  order,  thrift,  and  virtue,  but  it  is  slow  and  heavy. 
It  drags.  It  does  not  readily  take  the  stimulus  of  new 
ideas.  It  does  not  believe  much  in  improvement.  It 
is  content  with  old  methods,-  and  not  much  disposed  to 
consider  whether  there  can  be  any  better  ones.  The 
general  life  in  the  country  is  unquestionably  sluggish. 
It  is  withal  a  life,  too  much,  of  dull,  hard  drudgery. 
The  yoke  also  comes  on  the  shoulders  at  an  early  age 
with  excessive  severity ;  and  the  boys,  like  too  many 
of  the  colts,  are  broken  down  before  they  reach  the 
years  of  mature  strength  and  endurance.  The  late 
war  showed  that  the  town  and  city  boys  could  endure 
a  strain  under  which  those  from  the  country  frequently 
failed.  To  this  drudgery  of  country  life  there  is  little 
relief,  whether  to  the  man  in  the  field  or  the  woman  in 
the  house.  Day  in  and  day  out,  year  in  and  year  out, 
it  is  very  much  the  same  hard,  heavy  strain.  There  is 
little  change  except  from  work  to  idleness  or  sleep,  or 
perhaps  the  dull  gossip  of  the  neighboring  kitchen,  or 
the  duller  and  worse  gossip  of  the  store  or  tavern.  The 
talk  is,  in  large  part,  the  dripping  of  scandal  or  story- 
telling of  a  low  cast.  There  is  little  of  earnest  or  high- 
toned  thinking,  little  grappling  with  things  which  are 
not  material.  There  is  little  alertness  of  mind,  little  of 
the  spirit  of  inquiry  ;  as  how  could  there  be  much, 
when  body  and  mind  are  so  dragged  and  spent  with 
the  heavy,  incessant  tug  of  such  an  unvarying  round 
of  life?  * 


CAUSES  OF  OVER-POPULATING  OF  TOWNS.         35 

As  for  amusement  and  recreation,  there  is  next  to 
none,  at  least  that  is  worthy  of  the  name.  It  has  been 
said  of  the  New  England  villagers  particularly  that  their 
only  recreations  are  their  funeral  occasions.  There  is 
too  much  ground  for  the  sarcasm.  The  very  general 
attendance  of  country  people  at  funerals  is  not  alto- 
gether a  token  of  sympathy  and  respect.  It  is,  in  no 
inconsiderable  measure,  the  assertion  by  human  nature 
of  its  right  to  break  away  from  dull  drudgery  of  the 
house  and  the  soil,  and,  as  a  thinking,  feeling  being,  to 
become  a  participant  in  society.  And  so  you  shall  see 
the  people,  assembled  from  distant  parts  of  the  town, 
as  they  stand  about  the  doors  before  and  after  the 
solemn  service,  hearing  and  telling  the  news,  shaking 
hands  with  a  new  feeling  of  brotherhood,  and  so  going 
home  in  some  sense  refreshed,  for  anything  is  a  refresh- 
ment and  recreation  which  takes  one  out  of  the  rut  of  a 
dull,  plodding  life.  This  getting  together  at  a  funeral, 
as  also  the  gathering  in  company  at  the  church  on  the 
Sabbath,  is  a  very  important  matter,  therefore,  apart  from 
the  religious  solemnities  of  such  occasions.  If  what  is 
solemn  leads  to  the  joyful  and  the  genial,  through  the 
pleasant  interchange  of  thoughts  and  feelings  on  the 
doorstep  or  under  the  horse-sheds,  all  the  better  for  the 
people,  and  none  the  worse,  perhaps,  for  the  worship. 
It  is  the  easier  and  more  frequent  getting  together  for 
various  purposes  and  on  various  occasions,  it  is  the 
more  palpable  presence  of  society  which  town  and  city 
afford,  that  give  them  the  preference  over  the  country. 


36  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

It  is  the  more  manifest  presence  of  the  human,  the 
more  constant  and  intimate  commingling  of  the  human, 
that,  beyond  and  above  all  the  attractions  of  fashion  or 
wealth,  draws  people  to  the  city.  Bridget  will  consent 
to  be  shut  up  in  a  basement  kitchen  during  work-hours, 
because,  when  work-hours  are  ended,  she  can  quickly 
have  around  her  a  company  of  like  spirits,  or  can  meet 
them  as  she  goes  on  her  errands  to  the  corner  grocery 
or  to  the  baker,  when  she  will  utterly  refuse  to  share 
with  the  farmer's  wife  an  ample  apartment  whose  win- 
dows open  upon  boundless  views  of  beauty  and  admit 
none  but  healthful  airs. 

It  is  society,  and  varied  society,  which  the  soul  craves, 
unless  its  cravings  have  been  so  long  ungratified  that  it 
settles  down  into  an  ignorant  or  enforced  contentment 
with  itself  and  its  habitual  surroundings.  All  physical 
and  material  things  will  not  make  amends  for  the  lack 
of  society,  for  the  commingling  of  soul  with  soul.  Much 
as  the  human  being  may  grasp  after  what  is  material, 
and  material  as  his  life  may  seem  to  be,  he  is,  after  all, 
a  spiritual  being,  a  creature  of  feelings  and  sympathies, 
and  all  riches  cannot  satisfy  him.  Money,  land,  food, 
drink,  dress ;  these  are  not  enough.  There  must  be 
something  more,  and  something  higher  —  communion 
with  his  kind,  the  interchange  of  thought  and  feeling 
with  others.  This  he  finds  most,  and  most  easily  reach- 
ed, where  those  of  his  kind  are  massed  together  in  the 
town  or  city.  Here,  too,  in  the  large  community,  socie- 
ty of  the  most  congenial  character  is  easy  to  be  found. 


CAUSES  OF  OVER-POPULATING  OF  TOWNS.         37 

Then,  growing  out  of  this  consolidation  or  aggrega- 
tion, come  facilities  for  various  social  delights  ;  such  as 
books,  plays,  concerts,  lectures,  and  shows  of  different 
kinds,  reaching  in  quality  through  a  wide  range,  which 
adapts  them  to  all  tastes  and  all  grades  of  feeling  and 
culture. 

Now,  grant  that  there  is  an  abnormal  and  unhealthy 
craving  for  excitement  which  impels  many  to  turn  away 
from  country  life  and  seek  the  city  with  its  crowds  and 
varied  sights  and  scenes.  Grant,  also,  that  low  passions 
tend  thither,  because  of  the  easier  gratification  afforded. 
Enough  remains  in  the  prevalent  habit  of  life  in  the 
country  to  account  for  the  readiness  to  forsake  it  for 
the  town.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  our  boys 
and  girls,  not  to  speak  of  those  older,  who  have  any  en- 
terprise of  spirit,  should  be  willing  to  leave  the  paternal 
acres.  It  is  the  defective  social  element  of  our  country 
life  which  is  the  most  efficient  cause  of  the  depletion  of 
the  country  and  the  disproportionate  gathering  of  popu- 
lation in  the  large  towns  and  cities.  Other  causes  do 
their  part  to  occasion  this  result,  but  this  is  the  grand 
and  most  constantly  influential  cause.  The  remedy  for 
the  evil,  therefore,  if  remedy  there  be,  is  to  be  applied 
principally  at  this  point. 


38  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

DTJLNESS   OF   THE    COUNTRY. 

"Accuse  not  Nature,  she  hath  done  her  part." — MILTON. 

"To  smell  to  a  fresh  turf  is  wholesome  for  the  body."  —  THOMAS 
FULLER. 

LIFE  in  the  country  ought  not  to  be  dull  or  unattrac- 
tive. There  is  no  necessity  for  it.  In  certain  respects, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  city  may  possess  advantages  not  to 
be  found  in  the  open  country.  This  must  be  so,  else 
cities  would  never  come  into  existence.  And  so  to 
many  persons  the  city  or  great  town  must  be  the  most 
desirable  place  for  residence.  But  the  mass  of  people 
dwell,  and  ever  will  dwell,  in  the  country.  Cities  can 
exist  only  as  there  is  a  country  back  of  them  to  create 
and  sustain  them.  They  have  no  self-creative  power. 
"  The  profit  of  the  earth  is  for  all :  the  king  himself 
is  served  by  the  field."  So  says  the  Scripture.  Agri- 
culture, the  tilling  of  the  ground,  is  the  bottom  and 
foundation  of  all  life,  of  all  industries,  of  all  enjoy- 
ments. This  dependence  of  all  upon  what  is  produced 
in  the  open  country  is  often  forgotten,  and  multitudes 
who  flock  to  the  city,  without  any  legitimate  call  of 
business,  find  that  they  have  escaped  discomforts  and 


DULNESS  OF  THE  COUNTRY.          39 

troubles  which  might  have  been  removed,  only  to  meet 
those  far  greater  and  more  persistent  in  character. 

We  might  conclude  beforehand  that  the  place  de- 
signed by  a  good  Creator  for  the  larger  part  of  man- 
kind to  live  in  would  be  as  desirable,  because  as  promo- 
tive  of  comfort,  as  any.  Nay,  it  ought  to  be  the  most 
desirable.  And  so  who  does  not  know  how  the  poets, 
who  are  the  true  seers  and  have  the  deepest  insight  of 
things,  are  always  singing  the  charms  of  the  country 
and  taking  us  out  with  them  through  woods  and  fields, 
and  under  the  open  sky,  and  fixing  our  gaze  upon  a 
thousand  delightful  objects?  The  material  world  be- 
comes a  living  thing  to  them.  And  thus  our  own  Bry- 
ant, clinging  to  the  country  as  he  did,  resting — and  may 
we  not  say  revelling — there  after  his  daily  business  in 
the  city  was  done,  expresses  a  wide-spread  feeling  when, 
in  the  familiar  words  of  his  "  Thanatopsis  "  he  says— 

"  To  him  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language.     For  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty ;  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 
And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware." 

So  Wordsworth  says — 

"The  sounding  cataract 
Haunted  me  like  a  passion ;  the  tall  rock, 
The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 
Their  colors  and  their  forms,  were  then  to  me 


4:0  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

An  appetite — a  feeling  and  a  love, 
That  had  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm 
By  thoughts  supplied,  nor  any  interest 
Uoborrowed  from  the  eye." 

Cowper  in  like  manner  gives  this  expression  to  his 
feelings  in  respect  to  the  country : 

"I  never  framed  a  wish,  or  formed  a  plan, 
That  flattered  me  with  hopes  of  earthly  bliss, 
But  there  I  laid  the  scene.     There  early  strayed 
My  fancy ;  ere  yet  liberty  of  choice 
Had  found  me,  or  the  hope  of  being  free, 
My  very  dreams  were  rural." 

It  were  easy,  by  turning  the  leaves  of  our  volumes 
of  poetry,  to  bring  the  very  woods  and  fields  about 
us,  odorous  with  their  scents  and  vocal  with  their  pe- 
culiar sounds.  And  if  there  were  more  of  this  po- 
etic feeling  or  sensibility,  the  country  would  be  more 
attractive  than  it  is  as  a  place  of  living.  As  it  is,  we 
often  find  those  who  are  dwelling  amid  the  most  de- 
lightful scenery  quite  insensible  to  its  charms.  The 
most  beautiful  landscape  is  but  "common  earth"  to 
many.  "  Having  eyes,  they  see  not,  neither  do  they  un- 
derstand." And  one  of  the  problems  involved  in  mak- 
ing country  life  properly  attractive  and  giving  it  its 
true  interest  is  that  of  giving  people  this  power  to  see, 
the  ability  to  behold  what  a  world  of  life  and  beauty 
they  are  living  in,  and  so  to  have  all  the  powers  of  their 
souls  brought  into  communion  with  it,  and,  through  it, 
with  all  the  creation  and  with  the  Creator  himself. 
What  is  wanted  is  to  lift  our  country  life  out  of  the  dull, 


DULNESS  OF  THE  COUNTRY.         41 

mechanical,  and  monotonous  condition  in  which  it  is 
found  to  so  great  an  extent,  and  to  bring  it  into  a  con- 
dition of  inspiration  from  all  the  life  of  nature  and  so- 
ciety. 

The  problem  is  seen  to  be  twofold,  therefore — to  bring 
those  living  in  our  country  villages  into  closer  and  more 
frequent  contact  with  one  another,  and  thus  to  develop 
the  social  element  which  every  soul  so  much  needs ; 
and,  secondly,  to  bring  all  into  contact  and  communion 
with  nature,  and  thus  give  a  higher  tone  and  inspira- 
tion to  the  life  of  each  and  all. 

The  country  is  dull  and  irksome  to  many,  and  espe- 
cially to  the  young,  because  there  are  so  few  occasions 
of  coming  together  and  uniting  in  common  pleasures, 
and  thereby  gratifying  the  social  instinct  of  our  nature. 
We  are  made  for  society.  We  may  be  absorbed  for  a 
time  in  the  busy  cares  and  ambitions  of  middle  life  so 
as  to  be  temporarily  oblivious  of,  or  indifferent  to,  the 
claims  of  society.  But  in  our  younger,  and  again  in 
our  older  years,  we  feel  that  life  is  a  partnership  affair, 
that  to  be  alone  is  not  to  live.  We  yearn  for  our  kind. 
We  want  to  exchange  thought  and  feeling  with  others. 
We  want  to  touch  hands  and  to  touch  hearts.  We  want 
to  look  at  pleasant  things  with  other  eyes  as  well  as  our 
own,  to  see  and  hear  in  company  with  others. 

Now,  the  too  common  fact  is,  that  our  country  vil- 
lages furnish  few  opportunities  for  social  intercourse. 
Life  drags  on  with  an  almost  unvarying  round  of  toil. 
There  is  little  to  break  up  its  monotony.  There  are 

D 


4:2  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

few  sources  of  rational  amusement  open  to  all.  And 
amusement  certainly  has  its  place  as  one  of  the  needs 
of  a  truly  healthy  life,  healthy  in  the  largest  and  best 
sense.  As  the  cattle  cannot  profitably  be  kept  in  the 
yoke  all  the  while,  no  more  can  the  man.  The  farmer 
himself  will  accomplish  the  most  in  his  farm -work  if 
now  and  then  he  gives  himself  up  to  some  social  enjoy- 
ment. He  will  be  the  fresher  and  more  vigorous  for  it, 
and  he  will  find  more  of  enjoyment  in  his  life  of  toil. 

The  young  feel  a  special  craving  for  society.  It  is, 
in  fact,  their  life.  And  it  is  because  this  craving  of 
their  nature  is  not  adequately  gratified,  but  is  even  of- 
ten rudely  rebuked,  and  the  means  of  innocent  pleasure 
denied,  that  they  are  so  frequently  ready  to  leave  home 
and  friends  and  try  the  chances  of  town  or  city.  The 
son  and  daughter  not  only  feel  the  absence  of  occasions 
of  social  enjoyment,  but  they  see  father  and  mother 
leading  a  monotonous  round  of  drudgery  in  the  field 
and  in  the  house  alike,  with  little  variation,  the  joints 
of  the  body  stiffened  prematurely  by  the  steady  drag  of 
unremitted  work,  and  the  joints  of  the  mind  stiffened 
at  the  same  time  by  the  dull  and  narrow  and  unvarying 
habit  of  thought.  And  who  can  blame  them  if  they 
shrink  back  at  the  prospect  of  leading  such  a  life  them- 
selves? The  wonder  is  rather  that  more  do  not  flee 
from  the  country. 

But  this  may  be  changed,  and  should  be.  The  boys 
and  girls  at  school,  or  just  emerging  from  it,  in  the 
fresh  fervor  of  youth,  feel  that  there  is,  or  ought  to  be, 


DULNESS  OF  THE  COUNTRY.          43 

something  better  for  them  than  such  a  dull,  mechanical 
life  as  they  see  most  of  those  around  them  are  living. 
And  they  are  right  in  this.  Life  in  the  country  ought 
to  be  full  of  freshness  from  youth  to  oldest  age.  The 
life  of  a  farmer  ought  to  be  a  truly  royal  life.  There 
is  no  life  more  independent  or  free  from  wearisome 
care  than  his  may  be.  There  is  none  that  has  more 
abundant  natural  resources  for  delight  and  for  that 
which  will  interest  and  occupy  all  the  faculties  of  the 
man.  There  is  none  which  better  affords  place  for  the 
use  of  all  knowledge,  even  that  which  is  most  scientific. 
There  is  none  which  can  supply  a  larger  variety  of  em- 
ployments and  thereby  guard  against  monotony  and 
dulness  more  effectually  than  a  life  on  the  broad  acres 
of  the  open  country.  The  husbandman  is  king,  or  may 
be.  It  is  his  own  fault  if  he  lives  as  a  serf,  or  in  a  way- 
only  to  dull  and  dwarf  his  higher  and  better  nature. 


44  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MEANS   AND   OCCASIONS    OF    SOCIAL    INTERCOURSE. 

' '  How  sweet,  how  passing  sweet  is  solitude ! 
But  grant  me  still  a  friend  in  my  retreat, 
Whom  I  may  whisper,  solitude  is  sweet." 

COWPER. 

RECOGNIZING  the  deficiency  in  the  social  element  of 
country  life  as  that  which  principally  renders  it  dull 
and  distasteful  to  so  many,  and  the  chief  reason  why 
there  is  such  a  disposition  to  forsake  the  country  and 
crowd  the  towns  and  cities  with  a  disproportionate  pop- 
ulation, it  is  manifest  that  the  first  thing  to  be  done,  if 
we  would  remedy  the  evil,  is  to  make  some  resolute  en- 
deavor to  improve  the  social  life  of  our  country  villages. 
Something  is  needed  to  draw  out  in  the  inhabitants  of 
our  villages  the  feeling  that  they  are  dwellers  together 
in  a  common  home,  and  that  they  have  a  common  inter- 
est in  it  and  in  each  other.  Something  is  needed  to 
stimulate  into  more  active  exercise  the  feeling  of  mutu- 
al interest  and  common  enjoyment  as  well  as  a  common 
responsibility  for  the  general  ongoing  of  things  around 
them.  There  is  need  of  something  to  draw  the  people 
together,  in  one  way  and  another,  and  in  larger  or 
smaller  numbers,  from  time  to  time,  old  and  young,  and 


MEANS  AND  OCCASIONS  OF  SOCIAL  INTERCOURSE.   45 

men  and  women  alike,  that  they  may  look  into  each 
other's  faces,  and,  for  the  time,  engage  in  some  common 
work  or  common  pleasure,  and  thereby  have  the  bonds 
of  a  common  interest  and  fellow-feeling  cemented  and 
strengthened.  Something  is  needed  which  shall  local- 
ize their  feeling  and  cause  their  thoughts  to  gather 
about  the  place  in  which  they  dwell  with  a  special  in- 
terest, to  give  them  a  certain  pride  in  their  own  village, 
and  make  them  feel  that  it  is  a  good  and  desirable  place 
in  which  to  live ;  that  if  it  has  not  something  of  celeb- 
rity and  attractiveness,  which  other  places  may  have,  it 
has  yet  something  which  they  have  not,  or  has  it  in  bet- 
ter form  and  degree. 

This  feeling  needs  to  be  cultivated,  especially  in  the 
young,  who  naturally  have  as  yet  felt  the  fewest  ties  of 
attachment  to  any  place  or  society,  and  who  are  readi- 
est to  move  whithersoever  the  attractions  and  pleasures 
of  society  may  be,  or  seem  to  be,  strongest.  Parents, 
and  the  older  members  of  our  village  communities,  have 
been  greatly  at  fault  in  not  cultivating  in  the  young  a 
feeling  of  interest  in,  and  attachment  to,  the  place  in 
which  their  home  has  been  fixed.  They  have  been  at 
fault  in  not  having  more  of  it  themselves,  and  in  not 
manifesting  more  what  feeling  of  this  sort  they  have 
had.  "  This  is  our  village ;"  "  This  is  our  home."  Too 
seldom  has  there  been  the  feeling  which  stood  ready  to 
vent  itself  in  such  words.  So  far  as  it  has  existed,  as 
doubtless  it  has  to  a  considerable  extent,  it  has  been  for 
the  most  part  a  dumb  and  voiceless  feeling.  As  a  con- 


46  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

sequence,  the  young  have  grown  up  commonly  in  great 
ignorance  of  the  place  where  their  very  life  originated, 
and,  while  they  may  have  come  to  have  a  respectable 
knowledge  of  the  geography  and  history  of  the  world 
at  large,  have  often  been  lamentably  ignorant  of  the 
features  and  objects  of  interest  in  the  village  where 
they  were  born.  Many  a  boy  has  been  able  to  give 
a  more  intelligible  account  of  Patagonia  or  Greenland 
than  of  the  town  and  county  of  his  own  residence. 

Now,  what  is  wanted  is  something  that  shall  develop 
the  local  interest  of  the  dwellers  in  our  villages  in  one 
another  and  in  the  place  where  they  live ;  something  to 
cultivate  in  old  and  young  alike  the  feeling  of  attach- 
ment to  their  local  home.  Almost  anything,  therefore, 
is  to  be  encouraged  which  will  serve  to  bring  the  peo- 
ple together.  A  mountebank  show  is  better  than  noth- 
ing. But  other  and  better  occasions  may  easily  be  had. 
The  national  anniversary  and  Decoration  -  day  might 
easily  be  improved  in  every  village,  not  only  as  the 
means  of  stimulating  the  feeling  of  patriotism,  but  the 
feeling  of  local  attachment  as  well.  The  old  "May- 
day" of  our  English  ancestors  might  be  revived.  So, 
also,  farmers'  clubs  are  to  be  encouraged,  or  something 
of  the  sort,  under  a  different  name.  These  should  not 
only  draw  the  whole  village  together  once  a  year  for  a 
show  of  the  annual  products  in  cattle,  grain,  and  fruits, 
but  on  more  frequent  occasions,  though,  perhaps,  not  in 
so  large  numbers.  They  may  not  always  result  in  se- 
curing a  larger  immediate  pecuniary  return  for  the 


MEANS  AND  OCCASIONS  OF  SOCIAL  INTERCOURSE.   4.7 

farmer's  labor ;  though  nothing  is  more  certain  to  bring 
an  increase  of  this  sort  than  an  increase  of  intelligence 
in  the  methods  of  labor  which  such  gatherings  are  well 
calculated  to  promote.  But,  however  this  may  be,  they 
do  result  in  a  culture  of  the  better  feelings  and  sensi- 
bilities, which  is  of  more  importance  than  the  best  and 
most  profitable  culture  of  the  soil.  No  company  of 
men  can  come  together  as  friends  and  neighbors  to  dis- 
cuss corn  or  potatoes,  or  anything  that  concerns  their 
common  life,  without  going  home  the  better  for  so  do- 
ing. They  feel  anew  the  touch  of  a  common  humanity, 
and  they  are  better  men  for  what  they  have  mutually 
given  and  received  in  the  interchange  of  thought  and 
by  the  secret  magnetism  of  their  personal  presence. 
They  have  a  new  and  deeper  interest  in  one  another 
and  a  kindlier  feeling  towards  each  other.  The  farm- 
ers' sons  should,  of  course,  be  included  in  these  gather- 
ings, and  be  made  to  feel  that  they  are  for  their  sake  as 
much  as  for  that  of  their  elders.  Instead  of  being  mere- 
ly allowed  to  hang  about  upon  the  outskirts  of  such  as- 
semblings, as  has  been  so  commonly  the  usage,  they 
should  be  made  to  feel  that  they  are  an  essential  part 
of  them.  It  has  been  the  bane  of  our  agricultural  life 
too  commonly  that  the  sons  of  our  farmers  have  been 
made  mere  drudges  and  dependents,  instead  of  being 
early  recognized  as  having  a  partnership  in  the  com- 
mon work  and  the  common  rewards  of  the  home  hus- 
bandry, and  thus  too  often  have  been  fairly  driven  off 
from  the  place  which  had  become  more  a  place  of  ser- 


48  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

vitude  than  a  home,  and,  therefore,  had  little  to  attach 
them  to  it. 

If  these  meetings  are  also  open  to  the  farmers'  wives 
and  daughters,  as  they  should  be,  the  result  will  be  all 
the  better.  The  tone  of  the  talk  will  be  more  refined — 
more  of  the  soul  and  less  of  the  soil — while  the  light 
of  woman's  eye  shining  upon  the  scene,  even  when  her 
voice,  perhaps,  may  not  be  heard,  will  serve  to  quicken 
all  the  better  sensibilities  of  man's  nature.  And  then 
there  will  be  the  little  hand-shakings  and  interchanges 
of  family  and  neighborhood  news  in  the  doorway  and 
on  the  steps  before  and  after  the  formal  gatherings  and 
discussions.  Or  there  will  be  the  free  loosing  of  the 
tongue  and  the  unbosoming  of  the  heart,  perhaps,  at  the 
social  dinner  or  tea  which  is  the  accompaniment  of  the 
meeting,  that  will  make  the  result  all  the  better ;  for 
this  dining  or  supping  together  is,  after  all,  one  of  the 
great  motive  forces  of  a  truly  human  society.  A  good 
dinner  is  recognized  in  political  circles  as  an  important 
instrument  of  diplomacy.  "We  have  it,  also,  on  the  au- 
thority of  a  very  eminent  and  very  intellectual  clergy- 
man that  it  is  impossible  to  carry  on  a  ministerial  club 
successfully  without  having  a  good  dinner  or  supper 
as  one  of  its  adjuncts.  And  ever  since  Jacob  secured 
Esau's  birthright  by  a  mess  of  pottage,  and  conquered 
his  will  by  an  assault  on  his  stomach,  the  importance  of 
this  organ  has  been  recognized.  Body  and  soul  are 
strangely  linked  together.  We  are  not  all  body,  and 
we  cannot  be  all  aoul  if  we  would.  The  attempt  thus 


MEANS  AND  OCCASIONS  OF  SOCIAL  INTERCOURSE.   49 

to  etherealize  ourselves  makes  us  ghosts  or  dyspeptics, 
and  not  men. 

And  so  fairs  and  festivals  of  almost  all  sorts  are  to 
be  encouraged  on  the  same  account.  In  a  pecuniary 
view,  the  former  are  expensive.  They  commonly  cost 
more  than  they  come  to,  though  many  persons  have  an 
easy  way  of  cheating  themselves  into  the  belief  that 
they  thus  secure  large  returns  upon  a  small  investment. 
And,  accompanied  as  they  frequently  have  been  by 
grab -bags  and  lotteries  in  one  form  or  another,  their 
moral  influence  has  been  bad.  Their  real  value  is  so- 
cial, not  pecuniary;  and  as  man  is  worth  more  than 
money,  so  these  occasions  for  the  development  of  the 
social  part  of  our  nature  are  worth  more  than  all  the 
most  successful  speculations  of  the  Exchange.  The 
heart  at  such  times  coins  feelings  which  are  more  pre- 
cious than  any  coinage  of  the  mint.  Let  fairs  and  fes- 
tivals, then,  be  encouraged  and  multiplied  as  often  as 
fit  occasions  for  them  can  be  found.  They  may  occupy 
time.  But  how  can  time  be  better  employed?  They 
may  require  the  expenditure  of  some  labor  in  preparing 
for  them.  But  what  labor  is  spent  to  better  purpose? 
And  when  the  work  is  over,  how  many  pleasant  com- 
panionships will  have  been  formed  or  cemented  anew, 
and  how  many  pleasant  memories  will  remain !  The 
community  will  have  been  drawn  together ;  hearts  will 
have  come  into  closer  fellowship ;  the  sense  of  a  com- 
mon humanity  will  have  been  deepened;  and  some- 
thing besides  dollars  and  cents,  or  digging  and  ditching, 


50  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

will  have  been  thought  of.  And  then,  so  far  as  digging 
and  ditching  are  a  necessary  part  of  the  villager's  life, 
he  will  go  back  to  it  from  these  social  and  festive  occa- 
sions with  a  freshened  spirit  and  a  more  willing  heart ; 
he  will  go  back  to  it  feeling  that  he  is  not  a  mere  dirt- 
digger,  after  all,  but  that  there  is  another  and  better 
side  to  his  life. 

It  is  but  a  short  step  from  these  farmers'  clubs  and 
fairs  and  festivals  to  many  other  things  which  appeal 
to,  and  at  the  same  time  cultivate,  the  social  feeling, 
and  which  tend  to  give  attractiveness  and  interest  to  the 
place  where  they  are  found.  Such  are  debating  soci- 
eties and  lecture  associations,  either  separately  or  com- 
bined. The  former  may  easily  be  established  in  connec- 
tion with  every  district  school ;  and  one  can  hardly  be  es- 
tablished without  proving  a  source  of  interest  and  enter- 
tainment to  the  whole  neighborhood.  And  every  town 
may  have  an  instructive  course  of  lectures,  as  the  lei- 
sure winter  evenings  come  on,  which  will  prove  a  happy 
occasion  of  reunion  to  the  entire  community.  Nor  is  it 
necessary  to  send  abroad,  unless  occasionally,  perhaps, 
for  the  brilliant  stars  of  the  lecture  firmament.  Let 
there  but  be  a  readiness  to  give  a  modicum  of  honor  to 
a  prophet  in  his  own  country,  to  cherish  and  appreciate 
home  talent ;  and  then,  when  the  schoolmaster  has  giv- 
en his  address  on  some  theme  which  he  has  studied,  and 
Farmer  A comes  with  his  experience  on  the  culti- 
vation of  corn  or  on  the  improvements  which  have  been 
made  in  the  art  of  husbandry ;  or  Blacksmith  B 


MEANS  AND  OCCASIONS  OF  SOCIAL  INTERCOURSE.    51 

gives  his  essay  on  iron,  or  the  strength  of  materials,  or 
some  other  subject  with  which  he  is  familiar;  or  Car- 
penter C his  discourse  on  house -building  or  the 

various  qualities  and  uses  of  timber;  and  the  doctor, 
the  lawyer,  and  the  minister  contribute  their  quota 
from  their  various  stores  of  knowledge  and  the  contents 
of  their  libraries,  the  people  who  come  to  hear  will 
listen  to  honest  and  instructive  thought,  if  not  always 
to  the  smoothest  or  most  startling  periods;  and  the 
home  life  and  society  of  their  own  village  will  have 
new  value  in  their  esteem,  and  they  will  be  more  ready 
to  think  that  the  lines  have  fallen  to  them  in  pleasant 
places,  and  be  more  content  than  ever  with  their  coun- 
try home. 

Then  how  easy  to  have,  in  almost  every  village,  some 
organization  for  musical  purposes  —  a  glee  club,  per- 
haps, or  a  band  of  instrumental  performers  —  which 
shall  from  time  to  time  call  the  people  together,  in 
larger  or  smaller  numbers,  and  in  different  neighbor- 
hoods, it  may  be,  for  a  pleasant  entertainment  of  mu- 
sic, combined  with  cheerful  conversation  and  harmless 
games  of  various  kinds. 

It  is  easy  to  see,  when  we  come  to  look  at  the  subject 
thus,  how  readily  means  are  afforded  for  developing  the 
social  spirit  of  our  village  life,  and  thus  waking  that 
life  from  the  dulness  and  seeming  torpor  which  too 
often  characterize  it,  and  giving  it  a  new  interest  and 
attractiveness. 


52  VILLAGES  AJSTD  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTEK  VII. 

VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT    SOCIETIES. 

"The  real  elements  of  beauty  in  a  village  are  not  fine  houses,  costly 
fences,  paved  roadways,  geometrical  lines,  mathematical  grading,  nor  any 
obviously  costly  improvements.  They  are,  rather,  cosiness,  neatness,  sim- 
plicity, and  that  homely  air  that  grows  from  these  and  from  the  presence 
of  a  home-loving  people." — GEORGE  E.  WARING,  JR. 

WE  have  spoken  of  fairs,  festivals,  fanners'  clubs, 
and  the  like  as  deserving  encouragement  on  account  of 
their  contributions  to  the  social  life  of  our  villages  and 
consequent  tendency  to  make  our  village  life  more  at- 
tractive. But  when  these  means  of  social  improvement 
have  come  into  use  to  any  considerable  extent,  there 
will  grow  up  such  an  interest  in  the  village  home  as 
will  lead  many  to  wish  to  do  something  to  make  it 
additionally  attractive  —  to  add  something  of  method 
and  system  to  the  work  of  improvement.  As  a  new 
spirit  is  developed  in  one  and  another;  as  the  social 
feelings  are  quickened ;  as  something  of  taste  is  felt 
stirring  in  here  and  there  one,  there  will  be  more  and 
more  of  desire,  on  the  part  of  those  so  affected,  to  do 
something  for  the  whole  community  of  which  they 
form  a  portion.  Very  naturally  they  will  desire  to  see 
a  better  outward  look  on  the  village  itself — the  houses 


VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT  SOCIETIES.  53 

in  which  they  live,  the  streets  along  which  they  have 
occasion  so  often  to  walk  or  ride.  The  desire  is  a  laud- 
able one ;  and  yet  it  often  fails  of  attaining  its  object, 
except  very  slowly  and  partially,  for  want  of  the  aid 
of  systematic  and  associated  action,  and  because  action 
in  this  direction  and  for  this  object  is  something  un- 
familiar in  practice.  There  are  some,  if  not  many,  in 
nearly  every  village,  probably,  who  have,  in  a  degree 
at  least,  the  spirit  of  improvement;  who  desire  their 
own  advancement  in  culture  and  character,  and  who 
carry  this  feeling,  to  some  extent,  into  the  arrangement 
of  their  own  houses  and  their  surroundings ;  and  who 
would  gladly  see  an  improvement  in  the  aspect  of  the 
whole  town  or  village  where  they  live.  But,  alone, 
they  are  comparatively  powerless  to  effect  the  desired 
object.  It  is  true  that  what  any  one  may  do  to  im- 
prove his  own  residence,  or  to  improve  himself,  has  the 
force  of  example,  and  is  likely  to  stimulate  the  feeling 
of  improvement  in  others,  and  thus  produce  some  good 
result.  But  this  influence  works  slowly.  The  desired 
result  may  be  much  hastened  by  bringing  together  and 
combining  the  power  of  those  who  have  like  feeling 
and  taste.  And  there  is  often  a  good  deal  of  feeling 
and  taste  existing  in  a  latent  state,  as  it  were,  which  any 
such  organization  calls  out  and  makes  manifest,  which 
otherwise  would  never  have  made  itself  known. 

Hence,  among  the  most  hopeful  agencies  for  the  im- 
provement of  our  village  life  are  those  various  organi- 
zations and  associations  which  have  been  springing  up 


54  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

within  the  last  few  years,  known  generally  as  Village- 
improvement  Societies,  though  sometimes  bearing  oth- 
er names.  Such  organizations  deserve  to  be  encouraged 
on  very  many  accounts. 

They  may  begin,  if  need  be,  in  a  very  humble  way. 
They  may  begin  in  almost  any  neighborhood.  It  is 
not  at  all  necessary  to  wait  till  the  whole  village  or 
town  can  be  set  moving  in  this  direction.  If  only  those 
living  on  some  one  street  or  in  some  one  neighborhood, 
or  a  considerable  part  of  them,  associate  themselves  for 
purposes  of  improvement,  their  aim  will  sooner  or  later 
extend  so  as  to  take  in  the  entire  town,  and  their  organ- 
ization will  enlarge  itself  proportionally  or  be  merged 
in  another  of  wider  scope.  Sooner  or  later  the  thing 
will  expand  so  as  to  meet  to  the  fullest  extent  the  re- 
sult desired.  What,  is  most  needed  is  a  beginning.  If 
there  are  but  half  a  dozen  neighbors,  or  half  a  dozen  in 
the  whole  town,  known  to  each  other  as  having  some 
desire  to  see  a  better  state  of  society  and  a  better  look 
to  the  village  where  they  live,  let  them  get  together 
some  evening  and  resolve  to  do  what  they  can,  by  their 
combined  efforts,  to  bring  about  the  desired  result. 
But  let  the  meeting  and  the  earnest  talk  not  end  in 
talk ;  and  that  it  may  not  so  end,  let  not  those  assem- 
bled be  afraid  to  organize  themselves  into  a  visible  and 
formal  society  or  association.  Some  organization  is  in- 
dispensable to  success.  They  need  not  fear  that  such 
a  course  will  look  ambitious  or  presuming. 

And  now,  having  sufficient  courage  and  earnestness 


VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT   SOCIETIES.  55 

of  purpose  to  organize  themselves  into  a  visible  body  or 
corporation,  they  need  not  waste  time  in  deciding  by 
what  particular  name  they  will  be  known.  This  is, 
comparatively,  unimportant.  If  they  happen  to  have 
most  prominently  in  mind  at  the  start  the  desirableness 
of  trees  to  cover  the  nakedness  of  some  place  from 
which  the  ruthless  axe  at  some  former  time  has  swept 
away  every  green  thing,  let  them  call  themselves  the 
"  Tree-planting  Association  "  of  such  a  town  or  village. 
If  it  is  a  neighborhood  movement  for  the  general  bet- 
terment of  things  around  them,  they  may  designate 
themselves  the  " Neighborhood-improvement  So- 
ciety." Or,  if  it  is  a  more  wide -spread  movement  at 
the  outset,  they  may  style  themselves  the  "  Village-im- 
provement Society  of  ."  The  name  is  of  little 

consequence.  It  is  the  action  under  it  which  is  of  im- 
portance. What  is  wanted  is  something  to  hold  them 
together  in  a  visible  unity,  so  that  they  may  act  united- 
ly, systematically,  and  with  their  combined  force  and 
efficiency.  Being  thus  organized,  and  having  taken 
some  name,  it  is  very  important  that  their  few  officers 
should  be  selected  with  reference  to  their  earnestness 
and  efficiency  rather  than  their  dignity  or  the  personal 
position  which  they  may  have  in  the  community.  Our 
societies  are  not  unfrequently  so  loaded  down  with 
dignity  in  their  officers  that  their  effectiveness  is  very 
small. 

The  constitution  of  the  societ}r  may  be  as  simple  as 
its  name.     Nothing  elaborate  or  long-drawn  is  neces- 


56  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

sary.  Let  the  object  or  objects  of  the  association  be 
stated  in  as  few  and  simple  words  as  may  be.  Let 
there  be  a  president,  secretary,  treasurer,  and  an  execu- 
tive committee  of  two  or  three — it  may  be  a  few  more 
— and  then  the  society  is  ready  for  work. 

With  what  work  it  shall  best  begin  will  depend  upon 
the  peculiarities  of  the  place  and  also  upon  the  sea- 
son of  the  year.  Some  places  need  improvement  most 
in  one  direction ;  others,  in  a  different  one.  With  some 
it  will  be  most  needful  in  outward  things,  while  in 
others  it  may  be  most  demanded  in  respect  to  things 
within  doors  and  those  which  more  directly  respect  so- 
cial feeling  and  habits.  If  the  association  comes  into 
being  and  takes  form  in  the  cooler  season  of  the  year, 
then  it  will  naturally  turn  its  attention  first  to  the  pro- 
motion of  social  enjoyment  by  means  of  pleasant  gather- 
ings in  one  place  and  another — festivals,  concerts,  games, 
and  the  like ;  while  it  will  also  be  discussing,  from  time 
to  time,  in  its  meetings,  plans  for  operations  when  the 
right  season  comes,  which  will  do  something  for  the 
improvement  of  the  outward  appearance  of  the  village. 
If  the  organization  of  the  society  takes  place  in  spring- 
time, its  first  efforts  will  naturally  be  put  forth  in  the  en- 
deavor to  secure  some  outward  improvement  or  embel- 
lishment ;  and,  perhaps,  no  better  start  is  likely  to  be 
made  than  by  planting  trees  along  some  naked  street 
or  upon  some  open  ground  which  has  been  left  at  the 
confluence  of  two  or  three  roads  waiting  to  be  fashion- 
ed, with  little  effort,  into  a  lovely  park.  Or  it  may  be 


VILLAGE-IMPROVEMENT  SOCIETIES.  57 

the  village  church  has  been  left,  like  a  great  rocky 
boulder,  standing  in  some  bleak  place,  exposed  alike  to 
the  blaze  of  the  sun  and  the  blasts  of  the  storm,  forlorn 
and  cheerless.  It  would  be  a  thing  welcomed  by  all  if 
this  could  be  changed,  as  it  could  be  by  only  a  day  or 
two  given,  at  the  right  season,  to  the  planting  of  trees. 
If  the  parish  minister  should  be  a  member  of  the  Im- 
provement Society  —  as  he  very  likely  would  be — he 
might  be  willing  to  lend  a  voice  in  church  on  the  Sab- 
bath as  well  as  a  hand  at  the  right  time  elsewhere,  by 
doing  as  one  clergyman  we  wot  of  did,  who  one  day, 
calling  to  his  aid  the  words  of  Isaiah,  gave  the  follow- 
ing among  his  Sabbath  notices:  "All  those  who  are 
willing  to  aid  in  making  the  surroundings  of  the  house 
of  God  pleasant  and  comely  are  invited  to  go  out  into 
the  woods  with  me  to-morrow  and  'bring  the  fir-tree, 
the  pine-tree,  and  the  box  together  to  beautify  the  place 
of  God's  sanctuary,  and  make  the  place  of  his  feet  glo- 
rious.' "  The  result  in  that  case  was  a  pleasant,  social 
day  on  the  hill-sides  spent  in  gathering  the  trees,  and 
nearly  a  hundred  of  them,  of  various  kinds,  planted 
around  the  church,  where  they  now  stand,  the  adorn- 
ment of  the  village  and  a  monument  to  the  memory 
of  that  minister  to  which  the  people  point  with  pride 
and  affection. 

Perhaps  the  village  cemetery  has  been  neglected,  and 
is  an  unsightly  and  disagreeable  place.  If  so,  here  is  a 
feasible  point  at  which  to  begin  the  work  of  village  im- 
provement. No  other  work  could  be  undertaken,  either, 

E 


58  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

which  would  be  likely  to  excite  a  more  general  interest 
or  elicit  a  more  general  co-operation,  for  all  have  a  man- 
ifest concern  in  the  good  keeping  of  the  place  where  lie 
the  remains  of  friends  and  kindred,  and  where  all  are 
so  soon  to  lie  down.  Let  the  work  be  undertaken  of 
surrounding  the  place  of  the  dead  with  some  barrier 
which  shall  protect  its  sacred  ground  from  the  intru- 
sion of  wandering  cattle.  Let  it  be  girt  about  with  an 
evergreen  hedge,  emblematical  of  our  immortality,  our 
essential  life  thus  asserting  itself,  as  it  were,  in  the  very 
citadel  of  death.  Let  the  paths  that  lead  through  the 
cemetery  be  cleared  of  their  grass  and  weeds ;  the  half- 
fallen  gravestones  be  set  up  again,  and  trees  and  shrubs 
planted  along  the  avenues,  or  in  other  places,  under  the 
grateful  shadow  of  which  the  visitor  to  the  graves  of 
dear  friends  may  sit  down  for  rest  and  tranquil  contem- 
plation. 

In  the  various  ways  now  suggested,  and  in  many  oth- 
ers not  named,  the  desired  work  may  be  begun  and  car- 
ried forward.  It  matters  little,  as  we  have  said,  where 
the  beginning  is  made.  One  thing  will  naturally  lead 
to  another  until  the  whole  field  is  covered.  One  thing, 
too,  will  commonly  be  enough  for  any  one  year,  while 
several  years  will  be  required  to  accomplish  some  of 
the  objects  which  a  village -improvement  society  will 
be  likely  to  undertake.  Such  an  association  must  not 
attempt  too  much  at  once.  In  this  respect,  "hasten 
slowly"  is  true  wisdom. 

It  ought  to  be  said,  moreover,  that  this  combined  vil- 


VILLAGE-IMPKOVEMENT  SOCIETIES.  59 

lage-improvement  work  is  eminently  one  for  both  sex- 
es. There  can  be  no  dispute  about  woman's  rights 
here,  for  this  is  peculiarly  a  work  of  taste  and  feeling ; 
and,  in  matters  of  taste  and  feeling,  woman's  claim  to 
a  hearing  and  a  participation  none  will  dispute.  The 
union  of  the  sexes  in  councils  about  village  improve- 
ment will  make  the  consultations  all  the  more  pleasant, 
and  the  work  finally  done  all  the  more  satisfactory. 
We  have  in  mind  one  village,  which  stands  as  a  model 
for  work  of  this  kind,  where  the  work  has  been  done 
largely  through  the  instrumentality  of  women.  In  all 
the  councils  that  have  led  to  the  improvement  of  this 
village  the  gentler  sex  have  borne  a  conspicuous  part, 
and  their  suggestions  have  been  cordially  welcomed. 

So  it  should  be  in  all  such  cases.  The  sexes  should 
combine  in  the  work  of  improving  their  common  home. 
The  refining  and  tasteful  influences  of  the  one  should 
co-operate  with  the  executive  energy  of  the  other.  The 
result  will  be  all  the  more  complete  and  satisfactory  for 
this  combination  of  qualities.  Besides,  it  would  be  a 
great  loss  to  miss  the  opportunities  which  the  frequent 
consultations  of  such  associations  afford  for  the  meeting 
of  the  sexes  together  in  one  of  the  pleasantest  ways 
possible.  Such  assemblings  are  to  be  encouraged  on 
all  accounts. 


60  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   LAUKEL    HILL   ASSOCIATION. 
"Woodman,  spare  that  tree!" — G.  P.  MORRIS. 

A  BKIEF  sketch  of  a  single  successful  organization  for 
the  purpose  of  village  improvement  may  make  the  sub- 
ject more  clear,  and  prove  a  better  incitement  to  action 
in  the  right  direction  than  much  more  that  might  be 
said  in  another  and  more  general  form.  Most  people 
are  more  ready  to  work  from  a  pattern  than  to  originate 
for  themselves,  even  when  the  work  to  be  done  is  sim- 
ple. We  give  a  few  pages,  therefore,  to  a  sketch  of  the 
Laurel  Hill  Association  of  Stockbridge,  Mass.,  which 
has  become  somewhat  widely  known,  and  has  served  as 
the  model  of  several  like  associations.  And  if  any  one 
would  see  at  a  glance  what  steady  and  persistent  work 
can  do,  though  neither  large  numbers  nor  large  capital 
is  engaged  in  it,  let  him  visit  the  hills  of  Berkshire, 
and,  after  looking  down  upon  its  most  beautiful  village, 
and  passing  along  its  clean  and  shaded  streets,  let  him 
ask  some  of  its  inhabitants  to  describe  to  him  the  place 
as  it  was  a  score  of  years  ago. 

The  Laurel  Hill  Association  had  a  very  simple  and 
modest  beginning,  showing  in  this  that  such  organiza- 


THE  LAUREL   HILL  ASSOCIATION.  .    61 

tions  need  not  be  started  with  any  great  formality  or 
any  plan  of  immediate  great  effects.  It  had  its  origin 
in  the  endeavor,  on  the  part  of  a  few  sensible  and  taste- 
ful persons,  to  preserve  a  well  -  wooded  hill,  situated 
nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  village,  from  falling  a  victim 
to  the  woodman's  axe,  and  so  becoming,  instead  of  the 
"  thing  of  beauty "  it  was,  only  an  unsightly  object. 
The  rocky  and  wood-crowned  eminence  was  purchased, 
and  subsequently  given  in  trust  to  a  small  company 
who  had  organized  themselves  for  the  purpose ;  and  as 
the  hill  abounded  in  the  kalmia,  or  laurel,  this  easily 
gave  name  to  the  association. 

But  it  was  not  enough  for  the  association  simply  to 
preserve  the  hill,  or  to  add  something  to  its  attractive- 
ness by  clearing  away  the  tangled  underbrush  or  re- 
moving the  dead  or  decaying  trees.  The  securing  of 
the  hill  as  a  matter  of  taste,  and  not  because  it  was  good 
for  so  much  cord-wood,  and  therefore  so  much  annual 
pecuniary  income,  naturally  stimulated  the  proprietors, 
and  put  them  upon  doing  something  more  in  the  direc- 
tion of  right  feeling  and  public  improvement.  So  they 
began  by  taking  in  hand  the  cemetery,  which,  like  so 
many  of  our  village  burial-grounds,  had  been  left  in  neg- 
lect. Accumulated  rubbish  was  removed.  Walks  were 
cleaned  up  and  new  ones  constructed.  The  fallen  head- 
stones were  made  to  stand  erect  again.  It  was  not  long 
before,  through  the  influence  of  the  association,  the 
town  was  induced  to  make  an  appropriation  of  money 
sufficient  to  surround  the  cemetery  with  a  neat  fence  of 


62  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

iron,  within  which  was  planted  a  belt  of  evergreens. 
Subsequently,  a  stone  receiving-tomb  was  built,  where 
the  bodies  of  the  dead  might  be  temporarily  deposited 
when,  on  account  of  the  frozen  ground  in  winter,  or  of 
tempestuous  weather,  immediate  burial  might  not  be 
convenient.  And  thus  the  work  has  gone  on  from 
year  to  year  until  that  plain  country  burial-place  has 
become  a  beautiful  and  pleasant  spot,  and,  although  in 
the  midst  of  the  dwellings  of  the  villagers,  is  not  re- 
garded as  an  objectionable  presence. 

From  putting  in  order  the  cemetery,  trimming  and 
smoothing  its  pathways,  it  was  easy  and  natural  for  the 
association  to  undertake  to  put  the  streets  and  walks  of 
the  village  in  better  condition.  The  two  works  soon 
came  to  be  carried  on  together.  Beginning  at  the  cen- 
tre, where  everybody  had  occasion  to  come  for  the  sake 
of  the  post-office,  the  churches,  and  the  stores,  the  ine- 
qualities and  inconveniences  of  the  principal  street  were 
corrected  by  proper  grading  and  drainage ;  and  ample 
gravel  walks  on  either  side  were  constructed  in  place  of 
the  narrow  and  devious  trails  which  so  commonly  serve 
for  paths  in  our  country  villages,  the  footways  of  the 
horses  and  cows  being  usually  better  cared  for  than 
those  over  which  their  owners  have  to  pass.  The  peo- 
ple living  along  the  street  were  also  stimulated  to  put 
their  premises  in  a  clean  and  tasteful  condition,  and  to 
keep  them  so.  Next  followed  the  planting  of  trees 
near  the  roadside  wherever  trees  were  lacking.  The 
children,  sometimes  in  their  thoughtlessness  disposed  to 


THE  LAUREL  HILL  ASSOCIATION.  63 

treat  young  trees  too  rudely  by  climbing  them  or  mak- 
ing them  turning-goals  in  their  cheery  sports,  were  not 
only  held  in  check,  but  made  auxiliaries  of  the  associa- 
tion in  its  work,  and  put  under  a  beneficial  culture 
for  themselves.  Any  boy  who  would  undertake  to 
watch  and  care  for  a  particular  tree  during  two  years 
was  rewarded  by  having  the  tree  called  by  his  name. 
Other  children  were  paid  a  few  pennies,  from  time  to 
time,  for  the  loose  papers  and  other  unsightly  things 
which  they  would  pick  up  and  remove  from  the  street. 

Gradually  this  work  of  the  association  extended.  It 
soon  took  in  hand  the  streets  connected  with  the  main 
one,  and  reaching  out  towards  the  borders  of  the  town. 
Year  by  year  it  pushed  its  walks  out  from  the  village 
centre  towards  the  remoter  points.  Year  by  year  it 
extended  its  lines  of  trees  in  the  same  manner,  thus 
seeking  to  facilitate  intercourse  between  the  various 
parts  of  the  town  and  to  make  the  means  of  travel 
easy  and  pleasant. 

In  the  winter  season  and  the  early  spring  the  associ- 
ation, gathered  in  its  frequent  and  familiar  consultations 
from  house  to  house,  would  consider  what  further  im- 
provements were  most  needed,  and  then  perhaps  would 
vote  an  appropriation  for  the  construction  of  a  walk, 
or  the  planting  of  trees  along  some  street,  on  condi- 
tion that  the  dwellers  in  the  vicinity  should  contribute 
a  like  sum  either  in  money  or  labor.  Thus,  directly 
or  indirectly,  a  good  many  have  been  led  to  help  on 
the  work  who  have  not  been  members  of  the  associa- 


64  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

tion.  And  so  the  process  of  constructing  walks,  im- 
proving roads,  planting  trees  and  hedges,  and  stimulat- 
ing the  people  generally  to  a  more  tasteful  care  of  their 
premises  has  gone  forward.  Little  by  little,  and  in 
many  nameless  ways,  the  houses  and  barns,  the  door- 
yards  and  farms,  have  come  to  wear  a  look  of  neatness 
and  intelligent  care  that  makes  the  Stockbridge  of  to- 
day quite  a  diiferent  place  from  the  Stockbridge  of 
twenty,  or  of  even  ten,  years  ago. 

All  this  has  been  done,  too,  at  comparatively  little  pe- 
cuniary expense.  Yearly  subscriptions,  ranging  from  ten 
dollars  down  to  one,  have  been  solicited,  the  payment  of 
which  has  easily  been  made ;  and  with  the  money  thus 
secured  from  year  to  year,  and  the  additional  contribu- 
tions made  in  labor,  the  work  has  been  accomplished. 
It  has  really  been  no  tax  upon  the  town,  and  hardly 
a  burden  upon  any  one.  It  has  rather  been  a  source 
of  pleasure  all  along,  and  a  kind  of  healthful  rec- 
reation. Meantime  the  improved  appearance  of  the 
place  has  increased  the  market-value  of  the  houses  and 
lands  by  a  large  percentage.  People  of  wealth  and  taste 
from  abroad,  from  the  great  cities,  have  been  attracted 
to  the  place,  and  have  built  handsome  residences  for 
themselves  and  made  large  expenditures  which  have 
gone,  to  a  considerable  extent,  into  the  pockets  of  the 
villagers ;  and  thus  the  association,  though  not  aiming 
at  pecuniary  results,  but  only  at  those  of  taste  and 
feeling,  is  found  to  be  the  best  paying  investment,  even 
in  a  pecuniary  view,  which  the  people  have  made. 


THE  LAUREL  HILL  ASSOCIATION.  65 

Travellers  passing  through  Stockbridge  are  apt  to 
speak  of  it  with  admiration  as  a  finished  place ;  and, 
compared  with  many  even  of  the  New  England  vil- 
lages, it  has  such  a  look.  But  the  Laurel  Hill  Associa- 
tion does  not  consider  its  village  home  finished,  nor  its 
own  work  completed.  Still  the  work  goes  on.  Com- 
mittees are  even  now  conning  plans  for  further  im- 
provements. The  association  is  all  the  while  widening 
the  scope  of  its  action.  By  itself,  or  by  suggestions  and 
stimulations  offered  to  others,  it  is  aiming  at  the  culture 
of  the  village  people  through  other  agencies  than  those 
of  outward  and  physical  adornment.  It  fosters  libraries, 
reading-rooms,  and  other  places  of  resort  where  inno- 
cent and  healthful  games,  music,  and  conversation  will 
tend  to  promote  pleasant  social  feeling  and  lessen  vice 
by  removing  some  of  its  causes. 

The  monthly  meetings  of  the  association  are  of  the 
pleasantest  kind.  Composed  of  both  sexes,  and  assem- 
bling in  turn  at  the  houses  of  the  different  members, 
the  evenings  are  spent  in  discussing  whatever  tends  to 
the  improvement  of  their  common  home.  Something 
higher  and  more  important  than  the  fashions  or  the  or- 
dinary gossip  of  the  village  occupies  the  attention,  and 
leaves  no  regret  afterwards  for  time  misspent. 

Once  a  year  the  association  holds  its  public  festival, 
and  modestly  invites  all  who  will  to  come  and  see 
what  it  is  doing  and  what  it  has  done.  In  the  month 
of  August,  on  some  bright  and  sunny  afternoon,  you 
may  see  the  villagers,  together  with  the  city  guests 


66  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

summering  here  and  in  the  neighboring  towns,  mak- 
ing their  way  up  the  slope  of  Laurel  Hill  to  a  plateau 
half-way  from  its  base  to  the  summit.  Here,  under  the 
shade  of  lofty  oaks  and  elms,  there  is  easy  standing- 
room  for  two  thousand  persons.  Upon  the  eastern 
side  of  this  plateau,  where  the  hill  presents  a  perpen- 
dicular face  of  rock,  a  rostrum  of  earth  covered  with 
turf  has  been  built,  from  which  the  eye  looks  out, 
through  the  arching  canopy  of  trees,  upon  a  lovely 
stretch  of  meadow,  with  the  winding  Housatonic  near 
by,  and  a  portion  of  the  Tacouic  range  bounding  the 
western  horizon.  Here,  upon  their  earthen  platform, 
gather  the  officers  of  the  association,  with  the  orator 
of  the  occasion,  and  possibly  the  poet,  with  perhaps  a 
band  of  music  near  them,  while  the  assembled  com- 
pany distribute  themselves  in  groups  on  the  green 
grass,  or  on  the  adjacent  rocks  which  form  the  galler- 
ies of  this  rustic  theatre.  Prayer  is  offered.  The  sec- 
retary and  treasurer  make  report  of  the  transactions  of 
the  society  during  the  year.  The  officers  for  the  en- 
suing year  are  chosen.  Then  the  attention  of  the  com- 
pany is  asked  to  an  address,  usually  by  some  present 
or  former  resident  of  Stockbridge  who  has  gained  a 
measure  of  distinction  in  letters,  in  trade,  or  in  art, 
and  who  is  willing  thus  to  recognize  his  duty  to  the 
place  of  abode.  A  poem,  perhaps,  follows,  then  short 
speeches  from  one  and  another  whom  the  president 
espies  among  the  trees,  and  calls  upon  for  a  contribu- 
tion for  the  occasion.  The  speeches  are  interluded  by 


THE  LAUREL  HILL  ASSOCIATION.  67 

strains  of  music  and  pleasant  neighborly  talk.  All  is 
simple  and  unstudied.  It  is  the  village  festival. 
People  come  together  here  who  meet  nowhere  else. 
And  here  all  are  equal.  Old  and  young,  rich  and 
poor,  meet  together.  All  feel  that  they  are  welcome  ; 
arid  as  the  sun  begins  to  throw  his  slant  shadows  down 
the  hill-side  and  along  the  green  meadows,  the  groups 
move  homeward  with  a  kindlier  interest  in  one  anoth- 
er, and  a  stronger  attachment  to  the  place  where  their 
lot  has  been  cast. 

To  complete  the  account  of  this  association  wre  give 
its  constitution,  which  may  possibly  be  of  service  to 
such  as  have  in  contemplation  the  formation  of  a  sim- 
ilar organization. 


BY-LAWS     A.ND     REGMJLA.TIONS 

or  TUB 

LAUREL  HILL  ASSOCIATION. 


ARTICLE  I. 

This  Association  shall  be  called  "The  Laurel  Hill  Association  of  Stock- 
bridge." 

ARTICLE  II. 

The  objects  of  this  Association  shall  be  to  improve  and  ornament  the 
streets  and  public  grounds  of  Stockbridge,  by  planting  and  cultivating 
trees,  cleaning  and  repairing  the  sidewalks,  and  doing  such  other  acts  as 
shall  tend  to  beautify  and  improve  said  streets  and  grounds. 

ARTICLE  III. 

The  officers  of  this  Association  shall  consist  of  a  president,  four  vice- 
presidents,  a  clerk,  a  treasurer,  a  corresponding  secretary,  and  an  execu- 


68  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

tive  committee  of  fifteen,  part  of  whom  shall  be  ladies.  These  officers 
shall  be  elected  at  the  annual  meeting  (except  the  first  election,  which 
shall  be  on  the  3d  of  September,  1853),  and  shall  hold  their  offices  until 
others  shall  be  elected  in  their  places. 

ARTICLE  IV. 

The  president,  vice-presidents,  clerk,  treasurer,  and  corresponding  sec- 
retary shall  be  ex-officio  members  of  the  executive  committee. 

ARTICLE  V. 

It  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  president  to  preside  at  all  meetings  of  the 
Association,  and  in  his  absence  the  senior  vice-president  shall  preside. 
It  shall  also  be  the  duty  of  the  president  and  vice-presidents  to  procure 
addresses  at  the  annual  meetings  of  the  Association. 

ARTICLE  VI. 

It  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  clerk  to  keep  a  correct  and  careful  record  of 
all  the  proceedings  of  the  Association,  in  a  suitable  book  to  be  procured 
for  that  purpose,  and  to  notify  all  meetings  of  the  Association. 

ARTICLE  VII. 

It  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  treasurer  to  keep  safely  all  the  moneys  be- 
longing to  the  Association,  and  to  pay  them  over  on  the  orders  of  the 
executive  committee. 

ARTICLE  VIII. 

It  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  corresponding  secretary  to  correspond  with 
absent  members,  and  to  do  all  the  correspondence  of  the  Association. 

ARTICLE  IX. 

It  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  executive  committee  to  employ  all  laborers, 
make  all  contracts,  expend  all  moneys,  direct  and  superintend  all  the 
improvements  of  the  Association  at  their  discretion.  They  shall  hold 
meetings  monthly  from  April  to  October  in  each  year,  and  as  much 
oftener  as  they  may  deem  expedient. 

They  shnll  have  power  to  institute  a  system  of  premiums  to  be  award- 
ed for  planting  and  protecting  ornamental  trees,  and  making  such  other 
improvements  as  they  shall  deem  best. 


THE  LAUREL  HILL  ASSOCIATION.  69 


ARTICLE  X. 

Every  person  over  fourteen  years  of  age  who  shall  plant  and  protect 
a  tree  under  the  direction  of  the  executive  committee,  or  pay  the  sum 
of  one  dollar  annually,  and  obligate  him  or  herself  to  pay  the  same  for 
three  years,  shall  be  a  member  of  this  Association.  And  every  child 
under  fourteen  years  of  age  who  shall  pay,  or  become  obligated  as  above, 
for  the  sum  of  twenty-five  cents,  or  an  equivalent  amount  of  work  annual- 
ly for  three  years,  under  the  direction  of  the  executive  committee,  shall 
be  a  member  of  this  Association. 

ARTICLE  XI. 

The  payment  of  ten  dollars  annually  for  three  years,  or  of  twenty-five 
dollars  in  one  sum,  shall  constitute  a  person  a  member  of  this  Association 
for  life. 

ARTICLE  XII. 
Honorary  members  may  be  constituted  by  a  vote  of  the  Association. 

ARTICLE  XIII. 

The  autograph  signatures  of  all  the  members  of  the  Association  shall  be 
preserved. 

ARTICLE  XIV. 

The  annual  meeting  of  the  Association  shall  be  held  on  Laurel  Hill, 
on  the  fourth  Wednesday  of  August,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
Notices  of  said  meeting  shall  be  posted  on  each  of  the  churches,  and 
at  the  post-office,  at  least  seven  days  prior  to  the  time  of  holding  said 
meeting,  and  a  written  notice  sent  to  all  non-resident  members,  said 
notices  to  be  signed  by  the  corresponding  secretary.  Other  meetings 
of  the  Association  may  be  called  by  the  executive  committee,  on  seven 
days'  notice,  as  above  prescribed. 

ARTICLE  XV. 

At  the  annual  meeting  the  executive  committee  shall  report  the 
amount  of  money  received  and  expended  during  the  year ;  the  number 
of  trees  planted  by  their  direction  ;  the  number  planted  by  individuals, 
and  the  doings  of  the  committee  in  general.  Their  report  shall  be  en- 
tered on  the  records  of  the  Association. 


70  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

ARTICLE  XVI. 

Five  members  present  at  any  meeting  of  the  executive  committee  shall 
constitute  a  quorum  for  transacting  business. 

ARTICLE  XVII. 

No  debt  shall  be  contracted  by  the  executive  committee  beyond  the 
amount  of  available  means  within  their  control  to  pay  it,  and  no  mem- 
ber of  this  Association  shall  be  liable  for  any  debt  of  the  Association 
beyond  the  amount  of  his  or  her  subscription. 

ARTICLE  XVIII. 

These  by-laws  and  regulations  may  be  amended  at  the  suggestion  of 
the  executive  committee,  sanctioned  by  a  vote  of  a  majority  of  the  mem- 
bers present  at  any  meeting  of  the  Association. 


TREES  AND  TREE-PLANTING.  71 


CHAPTER  IX. 

TREES   AND   TREE-PLANTING. 

"What  we  lack,  perhaps,  more  than  all  is,  not  the  capacity  to  perceive 
and  enjoy  the  beauty  of  ornamental  trees  and  shrubs — the  rural  embellish- 
ment alike  of  the  cottage  and  the  villa — but  we  are  deficient  in  the  knowl- 
edge and  the  opportunity  of  knowing  how  beautiful  human  habitations 
are  made  by  a  little  taste,  time,  and  means  expended  in  this  way.'' — A.  J. 
DOWNING. 

"  The  man  who  loves  not  trees  to  look  at  them,  to  lie  under  them,  to 
climb  up  them  (once  more  a  schoolboy),  would  make  no  bones  of  murder- 
ing."— CHRISTOPHER  NORTH. 

THE  one  natural  and  universal  beauty  of  a  village  is 
in  its  trees,  so  that  one  can  hardly  think  of  a  pleasant 
bit  of  country  without  them.  Mountains  may  be  grand 
from  their  very  bulk  and  massiveness,  or  awful  even,  by 
reason  of  their  sometimes  scarred  and  naked  cliffs,  but 
they  are  beautiful  only  as  they  are  clothed  with  the 
verdure  of  trees.  So  water,  whether  in  the  form  of 
running  stream  or  placid  lake,  is  one  of  the  charms  of 
the  country.  Yet  the  stream  must  be  fringed  with  trees, 
occasionally  at  least,  and  linger  now  and  then  in  shady 
nooks,  and  the  lake  must  lie  like  a  gem  in  a  setting  of 
verdurous  foliage,  in  order  to  produce  the  best  effect, 
and  make  the  strongest  appeal  to  the  sense  of  the  beau- 
tiful. The  water,  otherwise,  is  valuable  only  as  so  much 


72  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

mill-power,  or  to  afford  means  of  transportation  for  mer- 
chandise. And  so  every  one  feels  that  half  the  beauty 
of  the  natural  world,  if  not  more,  is  gone  when  comes 
the  annual  fall  of  the  leaves,  for  then,  except  for  the 
evergreens,  the  trees  hardly  seem  trees  to  us.  They  are 
only  so  much  dead  wood,  apparently,  which  we  look  upon 
very  much  as  we  do  upon  that  in  the  carpenter's  shop 
or  the  lumber-yard — valuable  for  certain  purposes  of 
human  art  and  comfort,  but  touching  us  no  longer  with 
sentiment,  nor  drawing  out  our  feeling  as  to  living  things 
which  have  on  this  account  some  relation  to  ourselves. 

We  need  no  apology,  therefore,  after  having  spoken 
in  a  general  way  about  village  life,  its  needs,  and  the 
means  of  its  improvement,  for  offering  some  more  par- 
ticular considerations  in  regard  to  what  must  bear  so 
important  a  part  in  the  outward  improvement  of  our 
villages  as  trees. 

A  tree!  What  object  appeals  more  certainly  to  the 
universal  heart  of  man  ?  Its  very  commonness  may  be 
a  reason  why  very  many,  and  especially  those  who  have 
grown  up  in  well-wooded  districts,  are  not  distinctly  con- 
scious of  the  pleasure  which  they  find  in  trees.  It  is 
like  their  unconsciousness  of  the  delight,  the  daily  en- 
joyment of  the  atmosphere.  But  who,  least  emotional 
of  mortals  though  he  be,  has  not,  at  some  time,  if  not 
often,  felt  a  tree  to  be  a  precious  thing?  The  tired 
wayfarer,  reclining  by  the  dusty  roadside  under  its  cool, 
refreshing  shade  !  What  more  precious  or  truly  human 
picture  than  that  ?  A  party  of  old  and  young,  of  both 


TREES  AND  TREE-PLANTING.  73 

sexes,  picnicking  on  a  summer's  day  beneath  the  spread- 
ing boughs  of  some  grand  old  oak !  How  could  such  a 
happy  scene  be  without  that  tree?  Yonder  lofty  and 
majestic  elm,  the  growth  of  a  century,  standing  by  the 
side  of  some  farm-house,  which,  though  ample  in  size,  it 
dwarfs  to  a  cottage  as  it  rises  above  it  with  its  dome  of 
shade,  and  tosses  its  giant  arms  high  over  roof-tree  and 
chimney-top !  What  an  object  to  fill  one  at  the  same 
time  with  wonder  and  admiration !  How  it  starts  deep 
and  meditative  thoughts  even  in  the  casual  beholder! 
That  lordly  pine,  or  hemlock,  refusing  to  be  robbed  of 
its  beauty  at  any  season  of  the  year,  but  singing,  like  a 
hundred  ^Eolian  harps,  with  every  breeze,  and  holding 
itself  before  us  as  an  emblem  of  life  and  immortality, 
to  cheer  us  when  all  around  is  wrapped  in  the  chill 
white  robe  of  winter,  what  object  on  earth,  next  after 
the  immortal  man  himself,  is  more  beautiful  or  more 
noble  ?  "  Woodman,  spare  that  tree  !"  You  cannot 
replace  in  a  lifetime  what  your  axe  may  destroy  in  an 
hour.  It  has  taken  a  lifetime  and  more  to  build  up 
that  miracle  of  beauty. 

"In  what  one  imaginable  attribute  that  it  ought  to 
possess,"  asks  Christopher  North,  in  the  Nodes  Am- 
brosiancp,  "  is  a  tree,  pray,  deficient  ?  Light,  shade, 
shelter,  coolness,  freshness,  music,  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  dew  and  dreams,  dropping  through  their  soft 
twilight  at  eve  and  morn — dropping  direct,  soft,  sweet, 
soothing,  restorative  from  heaven."  What  a  blessing  to 
have  such  things  around  us !  What  a  blessing  to  be  able 

F 


74  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

to  place  them  just  where  we  will,  to  plant  and  care  for 
them,  and  see  them  under  our  hands  growing  into  ob- 
jects of  beauty  and  delight,  the  adornment  and  one  of 
the  chief  charms  of  our  homes !  Does  it  need  any  argu- 
ment to  show  the  healthful  influence — healthful  alike  to 
body  and  soul — which  they  are  adapted  to  exert  upon  us  ? 
There  has  always  been  a  charm  for  the  finest  minds  in 
tree-planting.  It  has  been  at  the  same  time  one  of  the 
best  recreations  and  one  of  the  pleasantest  studies  for 
those  of  the  noblest  powers.  Scholars  and  statesmen, 
poets  and  philosophers,  have  delighted  to  occupy  their 
time  in  producing  effects  by  means  of  such  planting. 
Says  Lord  Bacon,  "  God  Almighty  first  planted  a  gar- 
den ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  the  purest  of  human  pleasures ; 
it  is  the  greatest  refreshment  to  the  spirits  of  man,  with- 
out which  buildings  and  palaces  are  but  gross  handi- 
works ;  and  a  man  shall  ever  see  that,  when  ages  grow 
to  civility  and  elegancy,  men  come  to  build  stately, 
sooner  than  to  garden  finely,  as  if  gardening  wrere  the 
greater  perfection." 

We  know  only  comparatively  little  of  what  Bacon 
means  by  gardening ;  that  is,  by  any  practice  in  our  own 
country.  Gardening,  in  his  sense,  implies  the  planting 
of  whole  acres  with  trees,  and  the  production  of  land- 
scape effects  by  a  careful  and  well-studied  disposal  of 
them  in  groups  and  belts,  and  sometimes  in  banks  of 
forest  almost,  as  well  as  by  the  judicious  placing  of  single 
trees.  "We  know  little  of  this.  Our  planting  is  mostly 
confined  to  the  arrangement  of  a  few  trees  in  small  en- 


TREES  AND  TREE-PLANTING.  75 

closures,  or  along  the  roadside,  with  occasionally  some- 
thing on  a  little  larger  scale,  as  when  we  lay  out  a  city 
park  of  a  few  acres. 

But  even  with  the  small  scale  on  which  we  work, 
there  is  occasion  for  the  production  of  decided  effects 
and  room  for  study  in  order  to  make  them  most  pleas- 
ing. 

And  here  let  us  say  that  no  country  in  the  world,  per- 
haps, affords  a  larger  variety  of  trees  for  use  in  planting 
than  our  own,  or  trees  finer  or  more  desirable  in  them- 
selves. To  a  great  extent  we  are  ignorant  of  our  tree- 
wealth,  and  not  unfrequently  have  we  sent  abroad  for 
trees  when  we  have  had  much  better  ones  at  home. 
We  might  mention  the  Lombardy  poplar,  for  instance, 
a  tree  very  fashionable  forty  or  fifty  years  ago — and  the 
relics  of  the  fashion  are  to  be  seen  now  occasionally — 
but  a  poorer  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  tree  it  would  be 
hard  to  find.  A  single  one,  with  its  tall,  spiry  form,  as 
a  contrast  to  the  spreading  forms  of  other  trees,  in  a 
considerable  plantation,  would  be  admissible,  and  per- 
haps produce  a  good  effect.  But  to  fill  one's  door-yard 
with  such,  or  to  plant  them  in  rows  along  the  roadside 
for  miles  together,  as  has  sometimes  been  done,  is  the 
merest  caricature  of  tree -planting.  If  we  want  pop- 
lars, moreover,  we  have  them  in  our  own  forests,  and 
need  not  go  to  Italy  for  them,  or  to  the  nurseries.  And 
so,  also,  we  have  scores  of  other  trees  in  our  forests  of 
which  we  may  avail  ourselves  for  the  embellishment 
of  our  village  streets  and  door-yards.  We  have  limited 


76  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

ourselves  to  the  use  of  half  a  dozen  trees,  as  a  gen- 
eral thing,  in  our  planting,  when  we  might  easily  have 
taken  our  choice  from  half  a  hundred.  We  have  up- 
wards of  forty  kinds  of  oak  alone  in  our  country,  and 
yet  we  hardly  know  what  it  is  to  plant  an  oak.  What 
trees  we  have  of  this  sort  are  such  as  have  been  left  in 
the  cutting-off  of  our  forests,  or  those  which  have  come 
up  spontaneously.  But  there  is  hardly  a  grander  tree 
in  the  world  than  many  of  our  oaks.  This  tree,  how- 
ever, like  all,  or  nearly  all,  our  trees,  needs  to  grow  alone 
— to  have,  literally,  an  "open  field"  for  itself — in  order 
to  show  its  true  character.  Our  woodmen  know'  that  if 
they  want  the  most  serviceable  tree  for  timber,  they 
must  seek  it  in  the  open  ground  rather  than  in  the  for- 
est. The  tree  that  grows  in  the  forest,  crowded  by 
others,  neither  has  the  strength  nor  the  beauty  of  the 
one  that  grows  by  itself,  and  consequently  battles  with 
the  winds  and  bathes  in  the  daily  sunshine,  and  has 
room  to  toss  its  arms  abroad  and  develop  its  peculiar 
nature  completely. 

In  planting  for  beauty,  therefore,  care  should  be  taken 
to  select  trees  from  the  open  ground,  or  those  which 
grow  upon  the  edge  of  the  forest  rather  than  in  its 
depths.  Oftentimes  very  fine  trees  will  be  found  grow- 
ing along  the  division  fences  of  the  farm.  Choosing 
trees  thus,  we  should  next  endeavor  to  avail  ourselves 
of  the  great  variety  offered  to  our  hand.  Instead  of 
contenting  ourselves  with  the  elm  and  the  maple,  as  so 
many  have  done,  though  these  are  in  themselves  trees 


TREES  AND  TREE-PLANTING.  ff 

of  the  finest  character,  we  should  call  to  our  aid  also  such 
as  the  ash,  and  the  beech,  and  the  birches,  as  well  as  the 
tulip,  or  whitewood,  and  the  chestnut  and  hickory.* 
Then,  among  trees  which  have  been  brought  from 
abroad,  but  which  are  now  easily  obtained  at  home,  we 
have  the  horse-chestnut,  a  tree  both  beautiful  in  shape 
and  beautiful  for  its  clusters  of  bright  flowers.  And 
then  there  is  the  whole  pine  family,  as  we  may  call  them, 
or  the  evergreens.  We  have  done  hardly  anything  with 
this  class  of  trees  except  to  cut  them  down  for  fire-wood 
or  lumber.  In  this  respect  we  are  widely  in  contrast 
with  the  English,  who  often  almost  fill  their  lawns  and 
parks  with  the  different  kinds  of  evergreens.  And  yet 
there  is  more  reason  why  we  should  plant  this  class  of 
trees  than  they.  We  need  them  in  our  bright  sunshine, 
so  prevalent,  to  tone  down  the  too  abundant  light,  and  to 
give  a  sense  of  coolness  to  our  homes  and  streets  in  the 
heats  of  summer ;  whereas  the  English  are  under  dark- 
ened and  dripping  skies  almost  all  the  time.  Then  they 
are  specially  desirable  in  the  winter,  when  other  trees 

*  For  the  satisfaction  of  those  who  may  not  be  acquainted  with  many 
of  our  native  trees,  or  who  may  like  to  know  the  opinion  of  others  in  re- 
gard to  the  merit  of  different  trees,  we  give  a  list  of  those  which  the  Park 
Commission  at  Washington,  D.  C.,  composed  of  three  men  of  high  stand- 
ing as  horticulturists,  have  chosen  for  planting  on  the  borders  of  streets. 
They  have  planted  nearly  forty- thousand  trees,  which  have  mostly  been 
made  up  of  the  following  twelve  varieties,  and  which  we  place  in  the  order 
of  preference  given  them  by  this  commission :  White  maple,  American 
linden,  American  elm,  scarlet  maple,  box  elder,  sugar-maple,  American 
white  ash,  English  sycamore,  button-ball,  tulip-tree,  honey-locust,  Norway 
maple. 


78  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

have  lost  their  foliage  and  the  glare  of  the  snow  is  almost 
blinding.  How  pleasant  and  refreshing  it  is  then  to  let 
the  eye  rest  upon  the  soft  yet  vivid  green  of  the  pines ! 
Comparatively  few  also  know  what  a  protection  from 
the  cold  of  winter  may  be  secured  by  means  of  the  trees. 
A  single  row  of  pines,  planted  near  the  most  exposed 
side  of  a  dwelling,  will  furnish  a  very  effective  barrier 
against  the  chilling  blasts  from  the  northwest ;  and  a  belt 
of  such  trees,  two  or  three  deep,  will  almost  change  a 
winter  climate  to  a  temperate  one.  This  is  accomplished 
both  by  the  obstruction  which  the  almost  solid  mass  of 
leaves  offers  to  the  passage  of  the  wind,  and  by  the  pos- 
itive heat  which  the  trees  also  impart  to  the  atmosphere. 
For  it  has  been  found  by  experiment  that  the  vital  func- 
tions of  growing  trees,  like  the  vital  functions  of  our 
own  bodies,  are  attended  by  the  evolution  of  heat  which 
is  given  out  to  the  surrounding  air.  It  is  easy  to  see, 
therefore,  that  very  much  might  be  done  by  the  use  of 
the  evergreens  to  make  our  village  homes  more  beauti- 
ful, and  at  the  same  time  more  comfortable. 

And  here  let  us  say  a  few  words  for  one  of  our  most 
beautiful  but  least  appreciated  evergreens.  We  mean 
the  hemlock  pine.  We  hold  it  to  be  altogether  the 
finest  evergreen  that  is  native  to  our  country,  and  rival- 
led by  few  that  grow  anywhere.  And  yet,  because  part- 
ly of  its  very  abundance  in  many  portions  of  our  coun- 
try, covering  whole  mountain-sides,  and  because  of  its 
inferiority  to  the  harder  woods,  and  even  to  the  white 
and  yellow  pines,  for  use  as  lumber  or  fuel,  it  has  come 


TREES  AND  TREE-PLANTING.  79 

to  be  held,  among  our  villagers  especially,  as  a  cheap  sort 
of  tree  to  be  made  little  account  of.  And  so  it  has  been 
very  little  planted,  and  seldom  thought  of  as  a  desirable 
addition  to  the  door-yard  or  the  street.  But  there  is 
really  no  such  beauty  in  our  woods,  and  no  such  adorn- 
ment as  it  is  capable  of  giving  to  our  dwellings  and  our 
villages.  Whoever  has  had  one  or  more  of  these  trees 
fairly  established  on  his  lawn,  or  has  seen  one  that  has 
had  a  proper  chance  to  grow  in  the  forest,  where  it  could 
throw  out  its  arms  symmetrically  on  all  sides  and  lift  its 
head  without  impediment  year  by  year  towards  the  sky, 
has  been  ready  to  confess  that  there  is  no  tree  at  the 
same  time  so  graceful  and  so  grand.  The  elm,  among 
deciduous  trees,  alone  can  match  it.  The  white  and 
yellow  pines  and  the  spruce  fir  are  stiff  and  ugly  in  com- 
parison. The  Norway  spruce  is  its  only  rival,  but  it  is 
of  a  coarser  make  and  less  attractive.  Both  have  the 
beautiful  habit  of  drooping  their  lower  branches  till 
they  almost,  or  quite,  touch  the  ground,  and  then  rising 
in  majestic  and  graceful  cones  till  they  overtop  almost 
all  other  trees.  But  the  hemlock  has  a  delicacy  of  foli- 
age and  a  grace  in  every  limb  which  the  other  has  not. 
Its  whole  structure  is  instinct  with  life  and  beauty.  Its 
taper  branches,  ending  and  clothed  all  through  with  its 
most  delicate  leaflets,  sway  with  every  motion  of  the  air, 
and  toss  themselves  about  as  in  a  perpetual  joy  of  life. 
The  Dryads  surely  must  have  this  tree  for  their  home 
and  temple.  How  its  new  shoots,  coming  out  in  the 
spring  season — and  as  they  do  in  a  measure  even  after 


80  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

almost  every  rain  in  the  summer — of  a  lighter  tint  than 
the  older  leaves,  seem  fairly  to  smile  upon  you  as  you 
behold! 

"O  hemlock-tree!   O  hemlock-tree!   how  faithful  are  thy  branches! 
Green  not  alone  in  summer-time, 
But  in  the  winter's  frost  and  rime! 
O  hemlock-tree!  O  hemlock-tree!  how  faithful  are  thy  branches!" 

It  is  a  pity  this  tree  should  not  be  made  use  of  more 
than  it  is  for  the  embellishment  of  our  home  surround- 
ings ;  not  to  the  exclusion  of  the  other  evergreens,  but 
in  company  with  them.  Together  they  make  up  a  very 
pleasant  and  desirable  variety,  while  any  and  all  of  them 
form  a  fine  background  for  the  various  deciduous  trees. 
How  one  of  our  white  birches,  for  instance,  stands  out 
against  a  belt  of  dark  pines !  The  effect  is  almost  mag- 
ical. And  not  only  is  the  landscape  effect  better  when 
evergreens  are  mingled  with  deciduous  trees,  but  both 
classes  of  trees  seem  to  grow  better  in  each  other's 
company  than  separately.  This  is  usually  nature's  own 
way  of  growing  them.  Abundant  experiments  also 
have  proved  that  many  deciduous  trees  are  very  much 
benefited  by  the  shelter  which  neighboring  evergreens 
give  them.  It  is  wise,  then,  on  all  accounts,  to  mingle 
these  different  classes  of  trees  in  our  planting. 

Some  may  think  the  evergreens  specially  difficult  of 
management,  but  it  is  not  so.  There  is  just  one  thing 
to  be  remembered  in  transplanting  them,  and  that  is — 
that  we  must  not  allow  their  roots  to  become  dry, 
whether  by  exposure  to  sun  or  wind.  It  is  important, 


TREES  AND  TREE-PLANTING.  81 

therefore,  that  they  should  be  transplanted,  if  possible, 
in  a  cloudy  or,  better,  a  misty  and  still  day,  or  else  that 
their  roots  be  covered  while  they  are  being  removed 
from  their  old  to  their  new  home.  If  one  will  only  thus 
guard  their  roots  from  becoming  dry,  he  may  transplant 
a  hemlock  or  a  white  pine  with  as  much  ease  and  cer- 
tainty of  subsequent  growth  as  he  can  a  maple.  Ever- 
greens may  be  transplanted  with  this  care  in  the  warm 
months  of  July  and  August  as  well  as  in  the  early 
springtime.  It  is  best  commonly,  however,  to  choose 
small  trees,  because  it  is  not  easy  to  find  large  and  sym- 
metrical ones,  and  because,  in  the  case  of  all  small  trees, 
we  are  likely  to  take  up  a  greater  proportional  share  of 
roots  than  with  those  which  are  larger. 

And  whatever  tree  is  handled,  evergreen  or  decidu- 
ous, large  or  small,  let  it  not  only  be  taken  up  carefully, 
but  planted  also  carefully.  This  should  be  the  inflex- 
ible law.  Careless  planting  is  a  great  waste  of  time 
and  timber,  and  very  unsatisfactory.  A  few  good  trees 
full  of  vitality,  and,  therefore,  making  lusty  growth 
from  year  to  year,  are  better,  worth  more  every  way, 
than  ever  so  many  dead-and-alive  things — mere  apolo- 
gies for  trees — of  which,  alas !  we  see  too  many.  Treat 
a  tree  as  such  a  living,  divinely  created  thing  ought  to 
be  treated.  A  tree  has  rights  which  white  men,  black 
men,  and  men  of  all  other  colors  are  bound  to  respect. 
Do  not  wrench  it  up  by  force  from  the  soil  into  which 
it  has  woven  its  very  life  for  years;  do  not  tear  its 
rootlets  asunder  in  the  hasty  endeavor,  with  rude  in- 


82  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

struments,  to  separate  them  from  their  hold.  But  with 
whatever  painstaking  may  be  needful,  let  the  roots  be 
gently  separated  from  the  soil.  Remember  that  they 
are  the  digestive  organs  of  the  tree ;  the  organs  which 
are  to  gather  and  assimilate  its  food  and  convert  it  into 
tissue ;  and  that  the  fine,  fibrous  roots  are,  for  this  pur- 
pose, of  more  consequence  than  the  large  ones.  The 
tree  can  no  more  grow  without  them  than  a  man  can 
grow  without  a  stomach.  Take  them  up  carefully, 
therefore;  preserve  them  so  far  as  possible.  And  if, 
after  all,  some  roots  are  broken  in  the  removal,  let  the 
fractured  ends  be  smoothly  pared  off  with  the  knife  so 
that  the  wounds  may  be  quickly  healed  and  new  root- 
lets begin  to  be  formed ;  then  replant  the  tree  as  care- 
fully as  it  has  been  taken  from  the  ground.  Do  not,  as 
so  many  do,  treat  it  like  a  post  and  thrust  it  into  a  hole 
only  just  large  enough  for  it,  and  then,  ram  the  earth 
around  it  and  leave  it  to  take  care  of  itself ;  but  be  sure 
to  make  a  hole  as  large  as  the  natural  spread  of  the 
roots,  and  even  larger,  so  that  they  may  easily  push 
themselves  out  for  the  growth  of  corning  years.  For 
the  same  reason,  make  the  hole  of  generous  depth ;  then 
see  that  the  earth  is  made  fine  and  of  nutritious  rich- 
ness. Thus,  make  a  bed  for  the  tree  carefully,  as  you 
would  make  one  for  yourself,  and  then  lay  it  therein, 
tucking  the  earth  carefully  about  all  its  finest  roots, 
and  with  gentle  pressure  bringing  it  into  firm  contact 
with  them,  settling  it  occasionally,  perhaps,  as  you  go 
on,  with  a  few  quarts  of  water,  and  finally  mulching 


TREES  AND  TREE-PLANTING.  83 

the  surface  with  some  old  straw  or  with  flat  stones. 
It  will  pay,  as  a  child  well  nursed  pays,  by  a  healthy 
growth.  It  will  reward  you  with  its  own  tree-smiles 
every  year  and  every  day. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that,  as  some  portion 
of  the  roots  is  likely  to  be  lost  in  the  process  of  trans- 
planting, even  when  much  care  is  exercised,  it  is  proper 
that  a  corresponding  portion  of  branches  should  be  re- 
moved in  order  to  preserve  the  requisite  balance  be- 
tween roots  and  branches,  the  two  important  parts  of 
the  tree-system.  The  necessary  top-pruning  should  not 
be  done,  however,  by  lopping  off  at  once  the  whole  top 
down  to  a  certain  distance,  nor  by  removing  one  or 
more  of  the  lower  and  larger  limbs,  but  rather  by  a 
shortening  -  in  of  all  the  branches  a  few  inches,  which 
will  leave  the  shape  of  the  tree  uninjured  and  pre- 
serve the  proper  balance  between  the  digestive  and 
the  breathing  organs  of  the  tree. 

And  now  one  caution  in  conclusion.  Trees  are  good, 
but  we  may  have  too  many  of  them,  and  we  may  not 
have  them  in  the  proper  place.  It  is  easy  for  the  tree- 
planter  to  overcrowd  his  grounds ;  especially  is  this  apt 
to  be  the  case  when  small  trees  are  planted.  The  plant- 
er is  anxious  for  immediate  effect — at  least,  planters  in 
this  country  usually  are.  And  so  he  plants  a  lawn  in 
miniature,  which,  in  itself,  looks  well  enough.  But 
when  a  few  years  have  gone  by,  the  impatient  planter 
finds  that  his  lawn  has  become  a  thicket.  The  trees 
have  expanded,  as  it  was  their  nature  to  do,  until  there 


84  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

is  hardly  any  vacant  space  left.  Now  trees,  to  have 
their  best  effect,  must  be  seen  singly  or  in  a  harmoni- 
ous group  of  two  or  three  perhaps,  and  not  crowded 
together  as  in  a  forest,  where  their  individuality  is 
lost.  They  appear  at  their  best,  also,  only  when  they 
have  spaces  of  clean  turf  around  them,  in  which  they 
are  set  as  enamel.  And  when  trees  are  allowed  to  be 
crowded,  not  only  is  their  beauty  and  charm  as  trees 
lost,  but  the  highest  beauty  of  the  ground  is  also  lost, 
for  nothing  will  make  amends  for  the  lack  of  some 
space  of  clear,  unobstructed  turf,  on  which  the  sun  may 
throw  its  light  and  across  which  may  play  the  shadows 
of  the  clouds.  There  are  few  things  upon  which  the 
eye  rests  with  such  abiding  satisfaction,  from  day  to 
day  and  from  year  to  year,  as  a  breadth  of  clean, 
luxuriant  grass.  Neither  trees  nor  flowers,  however 
rich  or  abundant,  can  take  its  place.  Then,  moreover, 
the  crowding  of  trees  near  a  dwelling  is  prejudicial 
to  health.  Not  that  trees  in  themselves  are  harmful. 
On  the  other  hand,  science  has  shown  us  that  it  is  the 
office  of  the  trees,  through  their  lungs,  the  leaves,  to 
reverse  the  action  of  our  own  lungs,  to  inhale  carbon- 
ic acid,  and  to  throw  out  into  the  air  the  oxygen  which 
we  need.  But  there  is  no  hygienic  agency  equal  to 
that  of  the  sun.  This  is  the  true  fountain  of  life. 
Plants  and  animals  alike,  without  it,  have  but  a  sickly 
life  or  die.  No  trees,  therefore,  or  anything  else,  ought 
to  be  allowed  to  keep  its  beams  from  striking  upon  our 
houses  and  coming  every  day,  for  a  while  at  least,  into 


TREES  AND   TREE-PLANTING.  85 

our  rooms.  Blinds,  curtains,  carpets,  all  ought  to  make 
way  for  the  sun  and  give  it  welcome.  Then  if  we  want 
the  shade  of  trees,  let  it  be  sought  at  some  little  dis- 
tance from  the  dwelling.  On  all  accounts,  whether  of 
health  or  aesthetic  effect,  there  should  be  a  clear  space 
of  some  breadth  around  every  house,  where  hardly  so 
much  as  a  shrub  should  break  the  smooth  green  of  the 
turf  or  the  clean  sweep  of  gravel.  If  one  can  have  a 
single  elm  near  by,  so  large,  and  its  branches  so  lifted  up 
that  the  light  can  strike  under  them  abundantly,  except 
at  mid-day,  it  is  well.  One  such  tree  is  enough  almost 
to  satisfy  the  most  ardent  tree-lover  and  to  adorn  suffi- 
ciently any  dwelling-place.  But  if  more  are  wanted,  let 
them  be  planted  farther  away.  They  look  best  at  a  lit- 
tle distance,  as  do  good  pictures.  Then  their  different 
forms  can  be  best  seen,  and  the  play  of  light  and  shade 
upon  them  with  every  changing  hour  and  phase  of  sky. 
There  has  been  much  debate  as  to  the  best  season  of 
the  year  for  tree-planting,  but,  like  many  other  debates, 
this  is,  perhaps,  interminable.  Spring  and  autumn 
planting  are  advocated,  one  as  confidently  as  the  other. 
We  would  undertake  to  plant  as  readily  in  the  one  sea- 
son as  the  other.  The  advantage  of  planting  in  the  au- 
tumn seems  to  us  to  be  chiefly  this,  that  it  secures  so 
much  work  done,  which,  if  postponed  until  spring,  may 
not  be  done  then  on  account  of  the  many  things  which 
are  pressing  for  attention  at  that  season  of  the  year. 


VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

VINES   AND   CLIMBING   PLANTS. 

"  Or  the}'  led  the  vine 

To  wed  her  elm  ;   she,  spoused,  about  him  twines 
Her  marriageable  arms,  and  with  her  brings 
Her  dower,  th'  adopted  clusters,  to  adorn 
His  barren  leaves." — Paradise  Lost. 

"  Man,  like  the  generous  vine,  supported  lives ; 
The  strength  he  gains  is  from  the  embrace  he  gives." 

POPE. 

AMONG  the  things  that  go  to  the  outward  adornment 
and  beautifying  of  our  homes,  whether  in  city  or  coun- 
try, and  so  to  the  making  them  the  more  attractive  and 
enjoyable,  few  deserve  a  larger  place  in  our  esteem  than 
vines  and  climbing  plants.  Yet  their  very  modesty 
and  unobtrusiveness  often  cause  them  to  be  overlook- 
ed, like  the  grace  of  modesty  in  character  itself.  But 
there  is  scarcely  any  adornment  of  such  universal  ap- 
plicability. They  are  a  grace  and  charm  for  almost 
every  place.  In  the  crowded  city  there  is  hardly  any- 
thing which  can  do  so  much,  in  giving  a  touch  of  nature 
and  of  beauty  to  a  home  amid  walls  and  pavements  of 
stone  or  brick,  as  a  single  vine  or  climbing  plant.  In 
the  narrow  space  which  is  all  that  can  usually  be  at- 


VINES  AND  CLIMBING  PLANTS.  87 

tained  between  one  city  house  and  another,  there  is 
seldom  room  for  any  tree  to  develop  itself  and  show 
what  it  can  be  or  do.  We  have  to  content  ourselves 
commonly  with  mere  shrubs.  Yet  in  the  narrowest 
spaces  it  is  possible  to  embower  one's  self  and  house- 
hold amid  vines,  and  to  rejoice  in  a  grateful  seclusion 
from  curious  eyes,  while  at  the  same  time  enjoying  the 
balm  of  the  open  air.  And  even  when  shut  up  to  the 
necessity  of  living  in  a  city  "  block,"  there  is  no  man- 
sion so  grand,  or  with  walls  so  smoothly  chiselled  or  so 
deftly  carved,  but  that  an  ivy  or  a  wistaria  can  cling  to 
it,  and  give  it  an  added  grace  beyond  the  reach  of  any 
craftsman,  and  touch  the  heart  with  something  softer 
than  stone,  as  it  greets  the  eyes  of  the  dwellers  there, 
or  only  those  of  the  passers-by. 

But  the  open  country  is  the  true  home  of  the  vines  and 
climbers,  and  here  they  work  their  best  effects,  though 
they  have  often  been  greatly  overlooked  and  neglected 
amid  the  wealth  of  vegetation  around  them.  One  is 
often  surprised  to  find  people  who  are  regarded  as 
among  the  most  intelligent  and  observing  of  our  coun- 
try villagers  entirely  ignorant  of  some  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful climbing  plants  which  grow  in  profusion  within 
easy  reach  of  them,  perhaps  within  daily  sight.  Take, 
for  instance,  one  of  our  most  charming  climbers,  the 
clematis,  known  in  some  sections  as  "  old  man's  beard," 
one  of  a  dozen  species,  which  grows  abundantly  along 
many  of  our  New  England  brooks,  and  hangs  out  its 
beautiful  silky  tresses  in  autumn  upon  so  many  of  the 


88  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

hedge-rows  that  skirt  the  dusty  roadway.  Hardly  any- 
thing is  more  delicate  and  graceful.  It  is  a  most  rapid 
grower,  covering  large  spaces  in  a  single  season,  while  it 
is  also  among  our  hardiest  plants.  Yet  how  many  farm- 
ers have  driven  their  cows  to  pasture  for  years  through 
thickets  of  it  without  so  much  as  noticing  it,  certainly 
without  having  any  sense  of  its  loveliness ;  and  many  a 
farmer's  wife  or  daughter  has  seen  its  white,  starry  flow- 
ers and  its  silky  tresses  by  the  roadside  without  think- 
ing how  easily  its  charms  might  be  transferred  to  the 
door-yard  or  the  porch  at  home,  now  bare. 

Nothing  that  grows  commends  itself  to  us  more,  on 
the  score  both  of  beauty  and  usefulness,  than  this  class 
of  plants.  The  grape — type  of  all  the  climbers — with 
its  inimitable  grace  of  form,  neither  needing  nor  admit- 
ting any  touch  of  man  to  improve  it  in  this  respect, 
while  hanging  out  at  the  same  time  to  the  sight  and 
offering  to  the  taste  its  purple  and  luscious  clusters — 
what  growth  can  equal  it  ?  Well,  therefore,  do  the 
Scriptures  take  it  as  the  type  of  all  that  is  most  beauti- 
ful and  precious.  Israel,  God's  chosen  one,  is  a  vine. 
A  golden  vine,  curiously  carved,  we  know  also,  was  one 
of  the  chief  adornments  of  the  temple  at  Jerusalem. 
And  our  blessed  Saviour  offers  himself  to  us,  in  his 
most  endearing  relation,  under  the  figure  of  the  vine, 
of  which  we  are,  or  may  be,  branches,  drinking  our 
life  from  and  bearing  fruit  with  him  to  the  glory  of 
the  Heavenly  Father. 

It  has  been  well  said — 


VINES  AND  CLIMBING  PLANTS.  89 

" beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being," 

and  the  great  Maker  has  set  around  us  enough  of  the 
forms  and  hues  of  beauty  to  show  us  that  it  has  a  value 
in  itself  and  in  his  eye,  and  that  the  love  of  the  beauti- 
ful is  no  unworthy  feeling,  but  one  which  he  would  cul- 
tivate in  us  by  every  possible  means.  And  in  the  vine 
he  has  shown  us  how  closely  the  beautiful  and  the  use- 
ful are  linked  together. 

It  is  set  down  as  one  of  the  tokens  of  prosperity  un- 
der the  reign  of  King  Solomon  that  "  Judah  and  Israel 
dwelt  safely,  every  man  under  his  vine  and  under  his 
fig-tree."  It  would  be  better  for  us  if  we  were  to  be- 
come more  Oriental  in  our  habits,  in  this  respect  at  least, 
and,  in  the  season  of  warmth  and  leafage,  were  to  sit 
more  than  we  do  under  our  vines,  if  not  under  our  fig- 
trees  ;  if,  after  the  day's  work,  there  were  rest  and  pleas- 
ant talk  under  the  grape  arbor,  or  if  the  tea-table  were 
occasionally  spread  beneath  the  vine  trellis,  and  the  fla- 
vor of  the  hyson  were  mingled  with  that  of  the  blossoms 
or  the  clusters  of  the  grape.  They  do  this  over  the  wa- 
ter, and  we  shall,  sometime,  perhaps,  learn  to  do  the 
same.  In  Germany  and  France  especially,  one  may 
often  see  whole  families  taking  their  repast,  and  partic- 
ularly the  evening  meal,  in  the  open  air.  It  is  health- 
ful— healthful  not  less  to  mind  than  to  body.  It  helps 
to  gather  a  tender  feeling  about  the  home.  The  very 
soil  gets  a  more  hallowed  association,  and  the  children 
will  turn  to  it  in  after-life  with  a  sweeter  affection  and 
a  stronger  attachment.  It  draws  them  into  sympathy 

G 


90  VILLAGES   AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

with  nature  herself,  and  tends  to  inspire  them  with  her 
precious  influences. 

It  is  surprising  what  a  charm  is  sometimes  given  to 
a  very  ordinary  and  humble  dwelling  by  one  of 
these  climbing  vines.  Who  has  not  felt,  in  traversing 
some  country  road,  the  power  of  a  prairie  rose,  climbing 
up  by  the  door-side  and  over  the  simple  porch  of  a 
low -roofed  farm-house,  to  dignify,  and  even  glorify, 
what  otherwise  would  have  been  passed  by  without  no- 
tice, and  to  draw  tender  thoughts  and  feelings  towards 
the  unknown  dwellers  within  ?  And  then  there  is  the 
trumpet  creeper,  aptly  named  from  its  great,  red,  trum- 
pet-shaped flowers,  and  in  respect  to  which  one  is  at  a 
loss  whether  most  to  admire  its  flaming  clusters  of  blos- 
soms or  its  delicate  foliage.  What  a  grand  climber  this 
is !  How  it  mantles  walls  and  buildings  with  its  beauty ! 
We  carry  in  mind  now  the  picture  of  one  of  these,  seen 
more  than  twenty  years  ago  in  one  of  our  Connecticut 
towns.  It  was  a  low  stone  building,  erected  in  the  prim- 
itive days,  but  now  with  its  roof  ready  to  fall  in,  and  it 
was  tenanted  only  by  a  couple  too  poor  to  have  a  better 
shelter  from  the  cold  and  storm.  But  over  that  build- 
ing, scarred  and  seamed  by  time,  climbing  up  its  sides, 
and  fairly  rioting  over  its  long  stretch  of  roof,  and  cover- 
ing its  stone  chimney,  which  it  almost  smothered  in  its 
loving  and  luxuriant  embrace,  went  that  royal  climber, 
the  living  sheet  of  green,  spangled  all  over  with  crimson 
blossoms,  so  shapely  withal  and  dignified.  Why,  it  seem- 
ed that  those  walls  of  stone  might  well  have  been  built 


VINES  AND   CLIMBING  PLANTS.  91 

for  no  other  purpose  than  as  a  scaffolding  to  show  what 
a  wealth  of  grace  and  beauty  the  Heavenly  Father  had 
put  into  one  of  these  humble  plants  that  run  wild  about 
us,  asking  only  the  privilege  of  some  support  that  they 
may  lift  themselves  up  into  our  sight  to  bless  us  with 
their  beauty  and  lift  up  our  souls  with  them. 

And  then  what  shall  we  say  of  the  hop-vine,  the  hu- 
mulus  of  the  botanists,  like  humility  itself  drawing  its 
very  name  from  the  ground,  or  humus  ?  Let  us  say  of 
it  that,  like  humility,  it  has  a  heavenly  grace.  There  is 
a  common  way  of  speaking  rather  contemptuously  of 
this  plant.  Is  it  because  of  its  commonness  ?  It  ought 
to  be  so  common  as  to  find  a  place  in  every  door-yard. 
What  a  strong,  sturdy  grower  it  is !  What  a  lusty 
vitality  it  shows!  Ready  to  burst  from  the  ground  at 
the  first  approach  of  springtime,  before  most  other 
plants  have  begun  to  grow,  this  has  climbed  up  and 
is  looking  in  at  your  window  to  greet  you  with  its 
beauty,  and  soon  it  has  gone  far  into  the  air  with  its 
twining  wreaths.  Give  it  a  support,  a  cord  reaching 
up  to  your  roof,  and  it  will  climb  there  in  a  few 
weeks ;  or,  if  trained  upon  a  pole  with  some  cross-bars, 
platform-like,  at  the  top,  so  that  it  can  hang  down  its 
graceful  stems  like  a  canopy,  there  is  hardly  a  finer 
sight  as  autumn  approaches  than  this  common  and 
modest  humulus,  with  its  clusters  of  golden  catkins 
swaying  in  every  breeze. 

We  are  apt  to  think  of  the  hop  from  the  utilitarian 
point  of  view.  It  suggests  beer,  and  prosaic  yeast,  and 


92  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

the  bitter  tea  which  many  good  old  housewives  pre- 
pare as  a  nervine.  But  apart  from  all  these  and  other 
domestic  uses,  it  is  an  object  of  rare  beauty,  and  de- 
serves to  be  cultivated,  if  only  on  this  account. 

Then  there  is  the  convolvulus,  or  morning-glory, 
which  every  one  is  supposed  to  know,  but  the  won- 
derful beauty  of  which  so  few  do  really  know.  We 
might  say  it  is  the  poor  man's  delight,  it  is  so  com- 
monly found  near  the  cottages  of  the  poor,  if  it  were 
not  so  characteristic  of  almost  all  this  class  of  plants 
that  they  are  within  reach  of  those  of  slender  means. 
There  is  no  one  who  may  not  have  his  grape-vine  al- 
most for  the  asking,  or  if  he  will  go  into  the  woods  or 
hedge-rows  and  dig  it.  Even  the  choicest  of  our  grape- 
vines may  now  be  had  by  the  day-laborer  in  exchange 
for  an  hour  or  two  of  his  work.  The  ivy,  the  wistaria, 
the  Boursault  roses,  are  equally  cheap.  No  one  need 
be  without  them.  No  cottage  or  farm-house  need  be 
without  the  charm  of  their  luxurious  beauty. 

Then  there  is  the  honeysuckle  tribe — graceful,  rich 
in  color,  and  fragrant  with  odor.  How  easy  to  have 
one  or  more  of  these  near  our  dwelling !  How  cheap 
the  charms  they  bring,  and  all  the  more  precious  be- 
cause they  draw  around  us  the  added  charm  of  the 
bees,  with  their  soothing  murmur  and  promise  of  nec- 
tar by-and-by,  and  of  the  humming-birds  with  their  won- 
drous beauty  of  color,  miniature  rainbows  on  wings ! 

Last,  but  by  no  means  least  in  value,  let  us  speak  of 
the  Virginia  creeper,  known  also  as  the  woodbine  and 


VINES  AND  CLIMBING  PLANTS.  93 

the  American  ivy,  though  it  is  not  a  true  ivy,  but  be- 
longs to  the  grape  family.  It  is  to  be  found  over  a 
wide  extent  of  country.  But  no  commonness  or 
familiarity  can  lessen  its  beauty.  Those  who  have 
seen  it  encasing  some  tall  dead  trunk,  where  a  forest 
has  been  cut  away,  or  completely  mantling  the  walls 
of  some  church,  robing  its  tower  and  even  its  turret- 
tops  with  its  veil  of  green,  and  then  seeming  almost 
to  set  them  aflame  when,  in  the  autumn,  its  leaves  ex- 
change their  green  for  scarlet,  need  no  words  from 
any  one  to  kindle  their  admiration  for  this  most  love- 
ly climber. 

Such  are  a  few  out  of  a  large  class  of  plants  which 
are  adapted,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  to  aid  us  in  impart- 
ing outward  and  visible  beauty  and  comfort  to  our 
dwellings,  and  especially  to  dwellings  in  the  country, 
and  so  helping  to  make  country  life  the  more  attrac- 
tive. Besides  those  which  have  been  mentioned,  there 
are  many  more  of  like  character,  which  are  peculiarly 
adapted  for  culture  within  doors,  lending  us  their 
beauty  not  only  in  the  summer  season,  but  through 
the  long,  cold  days  of  winter,  when  all  our  vines  in 
the  open  air,  in  the  Northern  States  at  least,  are  obliged 
to  drop  their  leaves  and  their  beauty  together.  The 
English  ivy  and  the  German,  and  many  other  plants 
more  delicate  in  structure,  are  ready  to  our  hand  for 
the  decoration  of  the  rooms  we  daily  occupy,  so  that 
we  need,  at  no  season  of  the  year,  to  be  without  the 
charm  of  these  graceful  climbers. 


94:  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE, 

And  one  thing  more  may  be  said  in  regard  to  this 
class  of  plants  before  we  leave  them.  They  are  not 
only  most  beautiful  in  themselves,  but  they  are  at  the 
same  time  our  best  means  of  hiding  from  sight  much 
that  may  be  deformed  or  otherwise  repulsive  to  the 
sight.  A  squash-vine  in  the  garden,  with  its  massive 
leaves  and  golden  blossoms — cups  fit  for  royalty  itself 
— will  beautify  while  it  conceals  a  compost-heap.  So,  is 
the  dwelling,  or  some  building  near  it,  bare  and  rude, 
or  unpleasing  in  form  and  proportion,  let  a  vine  or  a 
creeper  mantle  its  side  or  hang  along  its  cornice,  and 
the  deformity  is  hidden  and  beauty  takes  its  place. 
And  thus  in  many  ways  these  rapid  growers,  which  may 
so  easily  be  trained  to  go  wherever  we  will,  may  be 
made  available  for  a  double  use — to  offer  us  the  charm 
of  their  own  beauty  and  loveliness,  and  to  shut  from 
sight  what  we  would  have  concealed. 


FKUITS  AND  FLOWERS.  95 


CHAPTER  XL 

FRUITS    AND   FLOWERS. 

"To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears." 

WORDSWOKTH. 

AMONG  the  many  divinities  to  whom  the  ancient 
Romans  paid  honor  were  Flora  and  Pomona,  the  dei- 
ties of  flowers  and  fruits.  And  not  the  least  worthy 
of  a  place  in  the  most  serious  regard  of  any  people 
are  those  products  over  which  these  fancied  divinities 
were  thought  to  preside.  Which  of  the  two  affords 
most  pleasure  to  man  it  might  be  difficult  to  decide ; 
for,  while  the  fruits  are  at  the  same  time  grateful  to 
the  taste  and  valuable  as  a  means  of  sustaining  life, 
the  flowers  appeal  at  once  to  the  senses  of  sight  and 
smell,  and  offer  a  more  constant  and  varied  source  of 
delight.  But  we  need  not  discuss  the  comparative 
merits  of  the  two  sources  of  pleasure,  since  both  are 
within  the  reach  of  almost  every  one.  The  more  im- 
portant fact  to  be  considered  is  that  few  of  us  make  as 
much  of  either  as  we  might.  We  neither  have  as 
many  flowers  or  fruits  as  we  might  have,  nor  do  we 
derive  from  them  as  much  pleasure  as  they  are  capable 


96  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

of  giving  us.  Why  this  is  so  it  might  not  be  easy  to 
determine.  It  would  seem  to  be  by  some  depravity 
of  nature,  for  flowers  are  everywhere  in  exhaustless 
profusion,  and  fruits  follow  flowers,  and  both  offer 
themselves  to  man  to  be  improved  by  his  culture  to 
an  extent  which  knows  hardly  any  limit.  Every  year 
surprises  us  with  the  discovery  of  new  flowers  or  the 
development  of  some  new  beauty  and  grace  in  the  old 
and  well-known  ones ;  while  the  fruit-culturist  is  con- 
stantly rewarded  by  the  gain  of  new  varieties,  or  the 
marked  improvement  of  the  old  in  the  qualities  which 
make  them  pleasurable  or  useful. 

In  the  country,  then,  in  and  around  our  village 
homes,  where  land  space  is  abundant,  flowers  and 
fruits  ought  to  abound.  The  fairest  show  of  these 
products  of  nature  should  not  be  found,  as  is  now  so 
often  the  case,  in  the  city  or  the  market-town  rather 
than  in  the  open  country.  Our  villages,  with  their 
farms  and  cottages,  ought  to  be  rich  and  beautiful 
with  these  proper  products  of  the  soil. 

Flowers  are  a  sign  of  taste  and  culture,  and  we 
never  see  a  flowering  plant  set  in  the  window  of  a 
dwelling,  however  humble,  but  that  we  think  the 
better  of  the  inmates  on  account  of  it.  Some  of  the 
household,  we  know,  may  be  coarse;  but  that  bloom- 
ing plant,  cheap  and  common  though  it  may  be,  grow- 
ing perhaps  in  no  vase  of  elegant  proportions,  but, 
perchance,  in  some  broken  piece  of  crockery  no  longer 
able  to  do  its  duty  in  the  cupboard  or  on  the  table, 


FRUITS  AND  FLOWERS.  97 

tells  unmistakably  that  in  some  heart,  at  least,  in 
that  home — in  the  heart  of  mother  or  daughter — there 
is  a  real  love  of  the  beautiful,  and  a  refinement  of 
feeling  which  breaks  out  from  the  drudgeries  of  its 
surroundings  and  asserts  itself  in  this  way,  bringing 
itself  thus  into  communion  with  the  whole  outward 
world  of  nature,  and  with  the  whole  realm  of  taste 
and  culture. 

And  every  such  sign  of  taste  and  love  for  the  beauty 
of  nature  is  to  be  encouraged.  Children  should  be  in- 
cited oftener  than  they  are  to  have  their  little  flower- 
gardens.  It  is  one  of  the  commonest  desires  of  chil- 
dren, as  they  see  others  cultivating  flowering  plants, 
to  have  some  of  their  own.  And  if  this  desire  were 
properly  gratified,  especially  if  they  were  given  a 
pleasant  and  well-prepared  place  for  their  floriculture, 
instead  of  some  out-of-the-way,  weedy,  and  undesirable 
spot,  as  is  commonly  the  case,  and  if  they  were  helped 
to  tend  and  watch  the  growing  plants,  and  to  notice 
from  time  to  time  the  wonderful  developments  of 
their  growth,  there  would  be  established  in  them  a 
love  of  nature  and  a  taste  for  the  beautiful  that  would 
go  with  them  through  life,  and  make  their  life  all  the 
healthier  and  better. 

Nor  should  the  cultivation  of  flowers  be  thought 
something  more  appropriate  for  girls  than  for  boys. 
We  make  a  difference  here  that  we  should  not.  It 
would  be  a  special  blessing  to  our  boys  if,  from  their 
youngest  years,  they  were  incited  to  sow  the  seeds 


98  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

of  various  plants  and  then  to  watch  and  assist  their 
growth,  and  thus  become  acquainted  with  the  laws  of 
nature  and  with  the  beautiful  and  wondrous  processes 
of  vegetable  life.  It  would  cultivate  their  observing 
faculties.  It  would  store  their  minds  with  valuable 
knowledge.  It  would  soften  and  refine  their  man- 
ners. It  would  give  us  a  succession  of  grown-up  men, 
more  intelligent,  and  therefore  more  capable  of  man- 
aging, the  affairs  of  husbandry  and  making  farm-life 
successful,  than  the  mass  of  our  farmers  now  are ; 
while  it  would  also  make  them  more  refined  and  taste- 
ful, and  the  work  of  the  farmer  more  tasteful  also. 
Then  husbands  would  not,  as  now  they  sometimes  do, 
look  upon  the  flower-beds  in  the  garden  as  so  much 
land  wasted,  and  the  time  given  to  their  care  by  the 
wife  or  daughters  as  so  much  time  misspent  or  taken 
from  more  important  uses ;  but  husband  and  wife,  and 
sons  and  daughters,  would  be  in  harmony  of  feeling, 
and  all  would  delight  to  co-operate  in  embellishing 
their  home  and  blessing  their  daily  life  with  the  beauty 
and  cheer  which  flowers  are  capable  of  giving.  Such 
a  common  and  accordant  employment  would  also  tend 
to  draw  the  family  together  and  strengthen  the  bond 
of  attachment  to  each  other,  and  would  do  much  to 
withstand  those  influences  the  effect  of  which  is,  too 
often,  to  loosen  the  ties  of  domestic  life,  and  to  make 
the  home  less  precious  and  attractive  than  it  should 
be. 

But  where  there  is  a  love  of  flowers  and  a  desire  to 


FRUITS  AND  FLOWERS.  99 

cultivate  them,  mistakes  are  not  uufrequently  made 
which  lessen  the  pleasure  that  flowers  might  give.  One 
mistake  often  made  is  that  of  cultivating  all  sorts  of 
flowers  indiscriminately.  Slips  and  seeds  are  eagerly 
caught  up  and  thrust  into  the  garden,  with  little  thought 
or  knowledge  of  their  character  or  habits,  and  the  re- 
sult is  an  incongruous  growth,  a  wild  disorder  of  beauty, 
which  almost  turns  beauty  into  deformity.  For  the 
best  effect  and  the  greatest  enjoyment  in  the  care  of 
flowers,  it  is  best,  in  most  cases,  to  confine  attention 
and  expend  care  upon  a  few  plants,  rather  than  to  en- 
deavor to  have  many.  It  is  better  to  have  a  few  of 
choice  character  and  perfect  in  growth  than  to  have 
ever  so  many  which  are  imperfectly  developed.  One 
or  two  roses,  carefully  tended,  so  as  to  bring  out  their 
completeness  of  form  and  color,  will  give  more  pleas- 
ure in  their  cultivation  and  be  a  richer  embellishment 
to  the  house  grounds  than  a  gardenful  left  to  grow  as 
they  may.  So  of  other  flowers.  There  is  more  pleas- 
ure in  being  intimately  acquainted  with  a  few  than  in 
having  only  a  general  knowledge  of  many.  Another 
mistake  is  made  sometimes  in  cultivating  plants,  wheth- 
er rare  or  common,  which  bloom  unfrequently,  it  may 
be  only  once  in  the  year,  and  have  no  attractions  except 
for  a  brief  period,  rather  than  those  which  bloom  much 
oftener,  perhaps  blossom  almost  continuously.  The 
flower-garden  thus  often  becomes  an  unsightly  place,  a 
wilderness  of  stalks,  with  only  occasional  flowers.  It  is 
much  better  every  way,  far  more  satisfactory,  to  be  con- 


100  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

tent  with  such  constantly  blooming  plants  as  the  per- 
petual or  Bourbon  roses,  the  salvias,  pansies,  daisies, 
portulacas,  geraniums,  verbenas,  alyssums,  asters,  and 
the  like,  with  only  a  few  of  the  rarer  kinds. 

Then,  as  to  the  embellishment  which  flowers  give  to 
a  village  home,  in  distinction  from  the  pleasure  which 
they  give  to  the  cultivator  as  he  or  she  tends  and  watches 
them  from  day  to  day,  it  is  better  to  cultivate  each  kind 
of  flowering  plant  by  itself  than  to  have  the  various 
kinds  intermingled  in  the  same  bed.  Unpleasant  con- 
trasts of  color  are  thus  avoided.  The  tasteful  eye  is 
often  pained  by  the  inharmonious  combination  of  colors, 
so  that  flowers,  beautiful  in  themselves  and  when  prop- 
erly arranged,  now  cease  to  give  pleasure.  We  may  add 
also  that  flowers  appear  more  beautiful  and  are  more 
effective  as  embellishments  of  grounds  when  they  are 
planted  in  masses  in  the  green  turf  of  the  lawn  or  door- 
yard  than  when  set  in  beds  in  the  garden.  When  plant- 
ed in  the  garden,  the  plants  will  have  large  spaces  of 
bare  earth  visible  between  or  around  them.  The  more 
the  ground  can  be  concealed  and  only  solid  masses  of 
flowers  left  visible,  relieved  against  the  green  turf,  the 
more  pleasing  the  effect ;  and  there  is  no  way  in  which 
this  can  be  better  secured  than  by  growing  flowers,  each 
kind  by  itself,  or  at  least  those  harmonizing  in  color,  in 
beds  cut  out  of  the  closely  shaven  greensward.  These 
beds,  let  us  also  say,  should  not  be  raised  up  into  mounds, 
as  is  so  often  the  practice.  In  our  sunny  and  hot  summer 
climate  most  plants  need  all  the  rain  which  falls  upon 


FRUITS  AND  FLOWERS.  101 

them.  But  where  the  ground  in  which  they  stand  is 
heaped  into  mounds,  a  large  part  of  the  rain  is  carried 
away  from  the  plants,  with  the  common  result  of  a  parch- 
ing arid  withering  that  make  the  flower-garden  too  often 
anything  but  a  pleasant  object  to  look  at.  Time  and 
labor  are,  for  the  most  part,  wasted  which  are  employed 
in  constructing  mounds  or  beds  of  fanciful  or  elaborate 
pattern  for  the  flower-garden.  These  may  please  at 
first  by  their  evidence  of  care  and  good  intention,  but 
they  are  difficult  to  keep  in  their  proper  shape.  The 
very  work  of  cultivating  the  flowers,  as  well  as  the  tread 
of  feet  in  visiting  them,  tends  to  impair  the  perfectness 
of  their  shape,  and  unless  this  is  preserved,  they  cease  to 
please.  In  this  case,  as  in  so  many  others,  simplicity  is 
better  than  what  is  more  elaborate  and  expensive.  Our 
costliest  things  are  not  the  most  needful  nor  the  most 
satisfactory.  If  we  want  flowers,  we  can  have  them ; 
the  poorest  can  have  them.  No  heaping-np  of  mounds 
or  elaborate  shaping  of  ground  is  necessary.  Flowers 
never  look  more  beautiful  than  when  seeming  to  spring 
out  of  the  green  grass ;  and  it  only  requires  an  occasion- 
al cutting  of  the  grass  roots,  so  that  they  shall  not  en- 
croach upon  the  space  designed  for  the  flowering  plants, 
and  these  may  then  be  left  almost  to  themselves.  With 
a  mass  of  flowers  of  one  color,  or  of  harmonious  colors, 
bedded  in  the  green  turf,  and  here  and  there  another, 
differing  somewhat,  it  may  be,  in  size  and  shape,  and  a 
climbing  rose  or  honeysuckle  perhaps  over  the  doorway, 
what  a  charm  may  be  given  to  almost  any  dwelling-place ! 


102  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

But  shall  we  confine  the  cultivation  of  flowers  to  the 
open  ground  and  the  open  season  of  the  year,  or  shall 
we  have  them  with  us  at  all  seasons,  and  in  the  house  as 
well  as  in  the  garden  or  on  the  lawn  ?  This  is  some- 
what a  question  of  expense  as  well  as  of  taste.  Through- 
out the  northern  portion  of  our  country,  flowers  are  a 
forbidden  thing  out  of  doors  for  half  the  year.  During 
the  long  winter  months  we  must  resort  to  the  florist  if 
we  would  have  them,  or  we  must  create  an  artificial 
summer  in  our  houses,  or  in  some  apartment  specially 
arranged  for  the  purpose.  Happily,  in  these  days,  our 
improved  methods  of  warming  afford  us  the  ready 
means  of  supplying  that  protection  from  the  cold  which 
flowering  plants  demand.  By  the  use  of  our  self-feed- 
ing stoves,  in  which  we  can  keep  a  continuous  fire  dur- 
ing the  entire  winter,  or  by  means  of  a  furnace,  we  are 
able  to  maintain  such  a  temperature  in  a  single  room, 
or  throughout  the  whole  house,  that  it  is  quite  practi- 
cable to  protect  even  tender  plants  from  the  severest 
cold,  and  to  have  their  bright  colors  and  fragrance  with 
us  all  the  year.  It  would  be  a  great  accession  to  many 
of  our  country  houses  if  better  appliances  for  warming 
them  were  introduced,  so  that  the  presence  of  flowers 
might  be  had  there  at  all  seasons  of  the  year.  Our 
farmers  and  villagers  would  find  it  a  cheap  expenditure. 
Saying  nothing  of  the  gain  on  the  score  of  health  and 
general  comfort  from  having  a  warmer  and  more  uni- 
form temperature  secured  throughout  their  rooms,  the 
cheerful  effect  of  bright  blooming  plants  here  and  there 


FRUITS  AND  FLOWERS.  103 

about  the  house,  and  their  refining  influence,  would  be 
worth  much  more  than  their  cost  every  year.  They 
would  make  the  house  more  inviting  and  more  satisfy- 
ing to  all  the  inmates,  and  tend  to  the  production  or 
the  confirming  of  a  spirit  of  contentment.  It  would  be 
one  of  the  things  that  would  help  to  attach  the  children 
to  their  home,  to  make  them  feel  that  it  is  a  home,  and 
not  a  place  merely  for  shelter  and  food,  and  so  to  make 
them  less  disposed  than  they  now  often  are  to  forsake 
it  for  something  pleasanter.  Everything  that  increases 
the  comforts  and  attractions  of  the  home  makes  other 
places  less  attractive  in  comparison  with  it.  Make  the 
surroundings  of  the  house  pleasant  and  healthful,  with 
green  and  graceful  lawns,  bright  flowers,  and  intermin- 
gled and  properly  balanced  sunshine  and  shade;  with 
proper  drainage  and  shaping  of  grounds,  so  that  no  un- 
wholesome damps  or  noxious  matters  shall  hang  about 
the  premises  to  offend  the  senses  or  threaten  the  health. 
Make  the  interior  arrangements  of  the  house  cheerful 
and  pleasant.  Let  there  be  sunshine  within  as  well  as 
without.  Let  there  be  no  best  room,  never  to  be  used 
except  on  state  occasions,  but  all  the  rooms  good  and 
ready  for  use.  Let  all  be  well  furnished,  though  it  may 
be  inexpensively,  and  the  children  have  rooms  which 
they  can  call  their  own,  fitted  up  with  some  care,  and 
warmed  for  them,  perhaps,  in  the  cold  winter  nights. 
In  such  homes  children  will  grow  up  with  strong  roots 
of  attachment  to  hold  them  there.  There  is  enough 
wasted  on  many  farms  and  country  places  to  make 


VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

them  very  palaces  of  comfort  and  beauty  if  it  were 
saved  and  properly  applied  in  practical  use.  The  Bible 
tells  us  that  God  has  made  everything  beautiful  in  its 
season.  And  if  he  has  made  things  beautiful,  we  may 
be  assured  it  is  for  a  good  purpose,  and  that  we  do  well 
to  love  the  beautiful,  and  to  bring  ourselves  into  con- 
tact with  it  wherever  we  can.  The  gospel  of  beauty 
needs  to  be  preached  as  well  as  the  gospel  of  goodness ; 
and,  indeed,  it  is  preached  wherever  a  blossom  unfolds 
itself  to  the  sight.  The  flowers  are  God's  messengers, 
designed  to  touch  us  with  the  sense  of  something  more 
and  higher  than  the  merely  useful,  to  lift  us  above  the 
narrow  questions,  "What  shall  we  eat?  or,  What  shall 
we  drink?  or,  Wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed?" 
"  The  life  is  more  than  meat."  The  life  is  more  than 
food.  It  consists  in  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  these 
are  closely  connected  with  the  sense  of  the  beautiful. 
And  if  the  Creator  has  made  the  flowers  to  be  especial- 
ly the  types  and  ministers  of  beauty,  we  shall  do  well 
to  surround  ourselves  with  them,  and  to  cultivate  their 
fellowship  in  our  grounds  and  in  our  dwellings. 

Closely  related  as  they  are,  after  what  we  have  said 
of  flowers,  we  need  not  say  much  in  respect  to  fruits. 
That  we  might  have  more  of  them,  and  of  better  quality 
and  more  desirable  than  what  we  now  have,  is  clear. 
What  a  few  in  every  town  and  village  have  might  be 
had  by  almost  every  owner  of  a  few  acres,  or  even  a 
few  rods.  There  are  usually  two  or  three  persons  in 
every  farming  community  who  are  noted  for  the  abun- 


FRUITS  AND  FLOWERS.  105 

dance  and  quality  of  the  fruits  which  they  cultivate 
and  send  to  market.  They  are  a  class  by  themselves, 
thought  to  be  of  a  somewhat  higher  order  of  farmers 
and  cultivators  than  those  who  limit  themselves  to  the 
growing  of  corn,  potatoes,  and  the  like.  They  are  of 
a  higher  order,  inasmuch  as  they  include  in  the  range 
of  their  work  what  the  others  are  either  too  ignorant 
or  too  lacking  in  enterprise  to  undertake. 

But  what  the  few  have  is  clearly  within  the  reach  of 
the  rest.  The  cultivation  of  fruit  requires  care  and  at- 
tention, as  does  the  cultivation  of  anything  else.  Trees 
bearing  desirable  fruit  do  not  spring  up  spontaneously 
and  grow  luxuriantly  of  their  own  accord.  The  origi- 
nal crab-apple,  perhaps,  did  so ;  but  the  Baldwin  or  the 
Spitzenberg  does  not.  So  with  the  many  other  fruits 
which  we  prize.  But,  with  a  reasonable  amount  of 
care,  these  fruits  may  be  had  by  almost  any  owner  of 
the  soil.  They  may  be  had  with  such  care  as  almost 
any  cultivator  can  give  without  detriment  to  his  other 
work.  A  great  deal  of  this  care  .can  be  given  when 
such  work  is  not  pressing,  and  in  the  odd  moments 
or  odd  hours  of  time  which  otherwise  would  very  like- 
ly be  lost.  Most  of  our  fruits,  probably,  have  been 
raised  in  this  easy  and  inexpensive  way,  and  yet  the 
value  of  our  fruit  crop  taken  together  is  even  now 
quite  noticeable.  The  census  report  gives  the  num- 
ber of  acres  devoted  to  vines  and  fruit-trees  as  4,500,- 
000,  and  the  estimated  value  of  fruit  products  is  as  fol- 
lows : 

H 


106  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE   LIFE. 

Apples $50,400,000 

•  Pears 14,130,000 

Peaches 56, 135,000 

Grapes .' . . .  2, 1 1 8,900 

Strawberries 5,000,000 

Other  fruits 10,432,800 

Total $138,216,700 

This  amounts  in'  value  to  nearly  half  that  of  our  wheat 
crop,  one  of  our  great  staples.  Great  as  this  amount  is 
in  the  aggregate,  it  is  only  a  beginning  of  what  our 
fruit  crop  might  be,  and  with  advantage  to  us  in  every 
way.  On  the  score  of  health,  a  larger  consumption  of 
fruit  is  desirable.  It  is  probable,  also,  that  the  agree- 
ableness  of  fruit  to  the  taste  will  cause  the  use  of  it  to 
keep  pace  with  its  increased  production.  The  modern 
processes  of  preserving  fruits  by  canning,  drying,  and 
otherwise,  and  the  use  of  refrigerator  cars  and  ships,  by 
which  they  can  be  transported  long  distances,  tend,  also, 
to  increase  their  consumption.  By  these  means  the 
evils  of  unequal  production  in  different  years  are  avoid- 
ed. The  excessive  product  of  a  favorable  year,  instead 
of  being  largely  wasted,  is  carried  over  in  part  into  a 
less  favorable  one,  and  thus  an  even  supply  is  secured. 
By  the  same  means,  also,  a  large  European  market  is 
secured  for  our  fruits.  So,  practically,  the  market  for 
good  fruit  is  now  unlimited,  and  there  is  abundant  en- 
couragement for  the  fruit-grower.  Ninety  thousand 
barrels  of  apples  are  reported  as  having  been  sent  to 
Liverpool  alone  in  the  month  of  December,  1877. 
The  exports  during  the  whole  year  amounted  to  nearly 


FRUITS  AND  FLOWERS.  107 

$3,000,000.  In  1871  they  were  only  $509,000.  This 
shows  a  rapid  increase.  Our  exports  of  dried  fruits 
for  the  year  1876  to  1877  amounted  to  14,318,052 
pounds.  Thus  we  are  beginning  to  send  our  apples, 
peaches,  and  other  fruits  abroad  in  exchange  for  the 
figs,  oranges,  and  grapes  which  we  have  so  long  import- 
ed from  the  countries  across  the  sea.  But  this  is  only 
the  beginning.  The  exportation  thus  begun  will  in- 
crease many  fold. 

And  how  pleasant  it  is  to  the  cultivators  of  fruit  to 
have  it  in  variety  and  abundance,  none  know  better 
than  themselves.  How  agreeable  fruit  is  to  the  taste, 
what  a  contribution  it  is  to  the  enjoyment  of  life,  we 
all  know,  in  a  measure  at  least.  We  might  enjoy  it 
much  more  than  we  do,  and  find  it  contributing  more 
largely  than  it  does  both  to  our  comfort  and  happiness. 
On  the  score  of  health  alone,  we  should  find  in  the 
greater  abundance  and  more  common  use  of  fruit  an 
ample  compensation  for  the  cost  of  its  attainment. 

Let  the  flowers  and  the  fruits,  then,  receive  more  at- 
tention. On  all  accounts  such  attention  is  desirable. 
It  will  repay  us  in  more  ways  than  one.  It  will  add 
at  once  to  the  charm  and  to  the  profit  of  village  life. 


108  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   COUNTRY   DWELLING-HOUSE. 

"Until  common-sense  finds  its  way  into  architecture  there  can  be  but 
little  hope  for  it." — KDSKIN. 

"  Houses  are  built  to  live  in,  and  not  to  look  on ;  therefore  let  use  be 
preferred  before  uniformity,  except  where  both  may  be  had. " — BACON. 

WHAT  should  be  the  structure  in  which  .our  village 
residents  may  find  the  most  fitting  home?  The  ques- 
tion implies  that  not  every  structure  called  a  dwelling 
is  appropriate  for  those  whose  home  is  in  the  open  coun- 
try. A  house  is  not  simply  a  contrivance  for  shelter,  or 
something  a  certain  number  of  cubic  feet  in  dimensions, 
and  therefore  capable  of  containing  a  given  number  of 
animals,  and  furnishing  them  with  the  needful  conven- 
iences for  eating  and  sleeping.  It  is  the  home  of  hu- 
man beings;  it  is  the  nursery  and  abode  of  all  those 
feelings  and  sentiments  which  distinguish  the  human 
creature,  and  which  are  so  different  from  all  that  be- 
longs to  the  mere  animal.  Every  house  should  have  su- 
preme reference  to  this  in  its  plan ;  and  when  we  see 
so  many  structures  occupied  by  man  which  were  mani- 
festly built  with  no  such  reference  to  the  peculiarly  hu- 
man elements  of  our  nature,  we  have  only  to  say  that 
they  are  buildings,  and  not  properly  houses  at  all. 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE. 

But  even  when  the  attempt  is  made  to  provide  for 
these  inner  wants  of  the  man,  his  spiritual  and  aesthetic 
nature,  there  are  certain  limitations  to  our  work,  arising 
from  various  sources.  Not  to  discuss  these  here,  which 
is  unnecessary,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  the  less  available 
space  for  building  in  the  city  or  populous  town  will 
necessarily  modify  the  character  of  the  structures  there 
as  compared  with  those  in  the  open  country.  There 
cannot  be  that  freedom  and  variety  of  arrangement, 
nor  the  same  choice  of  material  or  position,  which  there 
is  in  the  latter.  We  expect  in  the  city  a  certain  uni- 
formity of  style  in  building,  because  the  excessive  cost 
of  land  obliges  the  generality  of  house-builders  to  con- 
struct their  houses  upon  a  very  limited  ground-space. 
Hence  we  have,  and  are  content  to  have,  because  we 
deem  it  an  inevitable  necessity,  whole  streets  and  blocks 
where  the  houses  are  indistinguishable  from  one  an- 
other except  by  the  street  numbers  upon  their  doors. 
Were  it  not  for  these,  one  would  be  as  likely  to  go  into 
his  neighbor's  house  as  his  own.  In  the  country  we 
are  happily  able  to  avoid  this  tiresome  uniformity,  this 
merging  one's  self  in  the  mass,  this  loss  of  individuality. 

Here  there  is  room  for  each  one  to  house  himself  as 
he  will.  He  may  fit  a  house  to  himself  instead  of  fit- 
ting himself  to  a  house,  as  he  is  obliged  to  do  in  the 
city.  And  this  is  as  it  should  be ;  for  where  there  are 
no  forbidding  limitations,  each  person  or  family  ought 
to  indicate  its  own  character  somewhat  by  the  structure 
in  which  it  dwells.  The  house  is  for  the  man,  not  the 


HO  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

man  for  the  house ;  and  in  the  ideal  state  of  things  the 
house  of  an  intellectual  and  refined  family  should  as 
certainly  indicate  by  its  very  exterior  that  it  is  not  the 
abode  of  the  coarse  and  sensual,  as  the  shell  of  the  nau- 
tilus tells  us  that  it  is  not  the  home  of  the  periwinkle  or 
the  clam.  And  though  we  may  not  hope  to  reach  this 
ideal,  we  may  and  should  approximate  towards  it  more 
nearly  than  we  do.  At  present  it  is  only  here  and  there 
that  we  see  a  dwelling  having  a  character  of  its  own, 
and  indicating  the  character  of  those  who  occupy  it.  To 
a  great  extent  our  country  houses  are  mere  imitations 
of  one  another,  or  they  are  so  many  cubical  structures 
having  as  little  meaning  as  a  like  number  of  magnified 
dry-goods  boxes.  The  imitations,  moreover,  are  usually 
without  reason — mere  whims  or  conceits.  Some  one  has 
perchance  added  a  new  feature  to  the  former  customary 
house  of  the  place,  and  forthwith  every  new  house  must 
be  a  copy  of  his,  or  at  least  a  copy  of  that  particular 
feature.  It  is  amusing  to  see  how  far  this  copying  dis- 
position will  go,  and  what  little  and  meaningless  things 
seem  to  satisfy  it.  You  may  go  into  some  of  our  most 
respectable  and  well-built  villages  and  find,  for  exam- 
ple, the  conceit  of  painting  that  part  of  the  house-wall 
which  is  under  a  piazza-roof  of  a  different  color  from 
the  rest.  The  house  will  be  white,  of  course,  but  this 
little  piazza  bit  will  be  yellow  perhaps,  or  green,  or  blue, 
it  matters  not  which,  only  for  some  reason,  or  want  of 
reason,  it  must  be  of  another  color  from  the  general 
mass  of  the  house.  And  this  petty  conceit  will  run 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE. 

perhaps  through  the  whole  village.  In  another  village 
a  different  but  equally  meaningless  conceit  will  be  seen 
to  be  characteristic  of  the  place. 

For  all  good  country  building,  for  all  good  building 
anywhere,  the  first  requisite  is,  as  Ruskin  intimates, 
common-sense.  Let  there  be  a  reason  for  everything ; 
and  if  one  has  a  reason  for  everything  he  does  in  the 
way  of  building,  he  will  not  be  likely  to  go  far  astray. 
The  question  to  be  asked  all  the  while  and  at  every 
point  is,  "For  what  use  is  this  or  that  to  be  done?" 
Putting  this  question  of  use  foremost,  it  will  at  once  be 
seen  that  the  house  of  the  farmer  will  call  for  a  differ- 
ent sort  of  rooms  or  a  different  arrangement  of  them 
from  what  will  be  called  for  by  the  mechanic  or  the 
professional  man.  The  dairy-farmer,  again,  will  need  a 
house  somewhat  varying  from  that  of  one  whose  fann- 
ing processes  are  different.  Then,  in  addition  to  these 
reasons  for  building  one  kind  of  a  house  rather  than  an- 
other, there  will  come  in  the  size  of  one's  family,  the 
pecuniary  ability  and  the  peculiar  tastes  and  habits  of 
the  family.  All  these  things  are  to  be  considered,  and 
all  have  a  legitimate  influence  in  deciding  what  the 
house  shall  be.  But  there  are  still  other  considerations 
to  be  regarded. 

Prominent  among  these  are  climate  and  the  natural 
features  or  peculiarities  of  one's  place  of  abode.  One 
would  not  build  in  the  same  style  amid  the  rugged  hills 
of  New  England  as  upon  the  smooth  plains  of  the  West 
or  the  savannas  of  the  South.  The  heavy  snows  of  the 


112  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

former  region  call  for  a  high-pitched  roof  that  will 
carry  their  burden  or  slide  it  speedily  to  the  ground. 
The  very  lines  of  the  hills  also,  and  the  tapering  ever- 
greens which  so  commonly  meet  the  eye,  demand,  if 
the  house  is  to  be  in  keeping  with  them,  that  its  lines 
should  tend  upward.  For  the  same  reason  a  level  re- 
gion will  suggest  as  appropriate  a  style  whose  lines  tend 
in  a  horizontal  direction.  Speaking  architecturally,  the 
Gothic,  or  Pointed,  and  the  Italian  styles  represent  these 
upright  and  horizontal  lines ;  and  these  styles,  or  modi- 
fications of  them,  will  be  chosen  accordingly  as  one's 
place  of  abode  is  assimilated  in  its  prevalent  outlines  to 
the  one  or  the  other.  That  style  will  be  best,  in  any 
given  case,  wrhich  produces  a  structure  so  in  keeping 
with  its  surroundings  that  it  seems  to  have  grown  out 
of  the  ground  rather  than  to  have  been  placed  there 
artificially  or  by  construction. 

The  question  is  an  important  one — "  Of  what  material 
shall  we  build?"  The  abundance  of  wood  hitherto  in 
most  parts  of  our  country,  the  fact  that  almost  every 
householder  could  gather  the  material  for  his  house 
upon  his  own  land,  and  get  it  ready  for  the  carpenter 
at  little  cost  to  himself,  except  his  own  labor,  has  led 
to  the  almost  exclusive  use  of  this  material  in  the 
construction  of  our  country  houses.  Coupled  with  the 
abundance  and  cheapness  of  wood,  there  has  been  a 
prejudice  in  the  villages  against  the  use  of  stone  and 
brick.  Houses  built  of  these  latter  materials  have  been 
frequently  damp  and  unwholesome.  But  this  has  been 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE.  H3 

owing  to  a  faulty  method  of  construction.  Usually  no 
provision  has  been  made  to  prevent  dampness  from 
coming  up  and  filling  the  walls  of  the  house  from  the 
cellar  below.  Then,  in  addition  to  this,  the  plastering 
has  commonly  been  placed  immediately  in  contact  with 
the  walls,  and  thus  the  moisture  has  been  constant- 
ly and  directly  brought  into  the  various  rooms.  All 
that  is  necessary  to  prevent  such  a  result  is  that  just 
above  the  level  of  the  ground  there  should  be  a  course 
of  stone  in  the  walls  of  a  slaty  character,  which  will 
prevent  the  dampness  from  being  carried  up  by  capil- 
lary attraction ;  or  that  a  few  courses  of  stone,  or  brick, 
if  the  walls  are  of  that  material,  should  be  laid  in  ce- 
ment, which  will  intercept  the  moisture.  Then,  as  a 
protection  from  the  dampness  which  might  be  absorbed 
from  the  rains  or  the  damp  atmosphere,  let  strips  of 
wood  an  inch  in  thickness  be  nailed  to  the  walls  at 
suitable  intervals,  and  the  lathing  be  applied  to  these  in- 
stead of  being  placed  directly  upon  the  brick  or  stone. 
This  will  form  an  air-space  between  the  outer  wall  of 
the  house  and  the  inner  wall  of  plastering,  which  will 
effectually  exclude  all  dampness.  Many  of  our  old 
houses  which  have  long  been  unwholesome  on  account 
of  moisture  arising  from  the  faulty  mode  of  construc- 
tion just  adverted  to,  have  been  renovated  and  made 
wholesome  by  simply  applying  strips  to  the  old  walls, 
and  putting  a  new  surface  of  lath  and  plaster  upon 
these,  thus  creating  the  requisite  air-space. 

The  advantages  of  brick  and  stone  over  wood  as  ma- 


114:  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

terials  for  building  are  so  great  that  we  are  disposed  to 
say  that  nothing  but  great  difficulty  in  procuring  them 
should  make  one  willing  to  build  of  wood.  The  first 
cost  may  be  somewhat  more  than  if  the  latter  material 
is  used.  But  as  an  offset  to  this,  brick  and  stone  are 
much  more  substantial  and  durable.  A  building  con- 
structed of  these,  when  completed,  is  finished  once  for 
all.  On  the  other  hand,  a  wooden  structure  is  never 
finished.  It  is  all  the  while  subject  to  decay.  It  is  only 
by  covering  it  with  pigments,  encasing  it  in  lead  every 
few  years,  that  we  are  able  to  preserve  it  for  any  con- 
siderable length  of  time.  The  cost  of  these  frequent 
paintings,  and  the  repairs  which  come  in  spite  of  paint- 
ing, will  soon  make  the  cost  of  the  wrooden  building 
equal  to  one  of  stone. 

But  in  many  cases  it  would  cost  no  more  at  first  to 
build  of  stone  than  of  wood,  did  we  but  take  counsel 
of  common-sense.  There  are  multitudes  of  places  in 
New  England,  and  in  other  parts  of  the  country,  where 
there  are  rocks  lying  on  the  very  ground  where  one 
would  wish  to  build,  ready  to  be  broken  to  pieces  and 
wrought  into  walls  for  the  dwelling ;  or  where,  by 
quarrying  only  a  few  feet  below  the  surface,  the  build- 
er may  often  find  an  abundance  of  stone.  Now,  if 
he  will  only  be  content  to  lay  the  stone  up  in  a 
rough  but  solid  manner,  not  expending  labor  and  mon- 
ey to  dress  it  to  a  smooth  surface,  but  leaving  the  un- 
hewn pieces  in  their  native  form  and  honest  beauty, 
his  walls  need  cost  him  but  little.  If  he  wants  orna- 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE.  H5 

ment,  let  him  seek  that  also,  as  he  may  legitimately, 
in  a  cheap  way  and  from  a  source  close  at  hand,  and 
better  than  any  craftsman's  chisel  can  give  him.  His 
rough  wall  is  just  what  the  vines  of  various  kinds  love 
to  cling  to.  Let  him  plant  them  on  this  side  and  that, 
and  allow  them  to  run  over  his  house,  chimneys  and  all, 
without  fear  of  their  injuring  it.  Nothing  adds  such  a 
charm  to  the  exterior  of  a  house  in  the  country,  or,  for 
that  matter,  to  a  house  in  the  city,  as  one  or  more  vines 
climbing  up  its  sides,  and  holding  it  in  their  tender,  lov- 
ing embrace ;  and  one  of  the  difficulties  with  our  preva- 
lent wooden  houses  is  that  we  cannot  allow7  the  vines  to 
run  upon  them  freely,  as  we  would  often  like  to  do,  be- 
cause we  must  tear  them  down  every  few  years  in  order 
to  paint  the  houses ;  or  if  they  are  suffered  to  cling  to 
them,  they  promote  their  decay.  Nothing  can  be  better, 
nothing  in  the  long  run  more  satisfactory,  than  one  of 
these  simple,  rough,  and  solid  structures,  vine-clad  and 
mantled  year  by  year  with  their  garniture  of  leaves  and 
blossoms.  It  harmonizes  completely  with  nature  around 
it,  and  year  by  year  the  touches  of  time,  instead  of 
threatening  its  decay  and  destruction,  only  mellow  its 
hue,  and  make  it  more  attractive.  Such  a  house  seems 
a  living  thing,  a  growth,  in  which  one  may  have  per- 
petual delight,  and  with  which  he  may  live  in  a  constant 
sweet  fellowship.  In  this  it  differs  from  any  painted 
wooden  structure  whatsoever.  Such  a  house  may  be 
elaborate  in  finish  within,  or  it  may  be  as  simple  as  its 
exterior,  and  BO  is  adapted  to  the  use  of  those  differing 


116  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

greatly  in  fortune.  To  those  of  restricted  means  it  will 
suggest  a  correspondingly  plain  and  simple  furniture  in 
many  rooms,  much  of  which  perhaps  the  helpful  hands 
of  the  household  will  construct.  It  will  be  a  home  of 
taste  and  frugality  rather  than  of  show  or  extravagance. 
It  will  be  within  and  without  a  true  village  home. 

Next  in  value  to  stone  as  a  building  material  are 
bricks  ;  but  inferior,  as  being  artificial,  and,  as  common- 
ly used,  by  no  means  as  expressive.  But  we  might  put 
this  material  to  better  use  than  we  do.  In  Europe,  some 
of  the  finest  buildings  are  constructed  of  bricks.  By 
moulding  them  of  various  forms,  and  combining  differ- 
ent colors,  we  can  obtain  very  fine  effects  in  brickwork. 
The  last  few  years  have  given  us  some  illustrations  of 
what  may  be  done  in  this  way ;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  our  monotonous  and  meaningless  red-brick  struct- 
ures will  give  way  to  something  more  pleasing.  Well- 
burned  bricks  are  a  much  more  durable  material  for 
building  than  many  of  the  softer  stones ;  and  for  color 
nothing  can  be  better  than  that  of  the  so-called  "  Mil- 
waukee brick,"  for  example,  which  is  made  in  many 
places  in  our  Western  States.  This  color,  ranging  from 
a  cream  tint  to  almost  a  positive  straw  color,  is  one  of 
the  best  for  its  general  harmony  with  objects  around ; 
and,  varied  in  its  effect,  as  it  may  be  by  combining  with 
it  stones  or  bricks  of  a  different  hue,  it  is  all  that  can  be 
desired.  For  use  in  the  country,  it  is  better  to  seek  the 
effect  given  by  color  and  plain  but  decided  mouldings 
and  projections  in  ordinary  rough  bricks  than  to  expend 


THE   COUNTRY   DWELLING-HOUSE. 

money  in  building  with  the  carefully  pressed  bricks  and 
with  the  nice  and  elaborate  finish  which  they  require. 
Their  place  is  the  city  rather  than  the  country. 

But  whether  stone,  bricks,  or  wood  be  chosen  as  the 
material  writh  which  to  build,  there  are  some  considera- 
tions equally  applicable  to  all.  As  to  site,  the  utmost 
care  should  be  taken  to  fix  upon  a  spot  which  can  be 
effectively  drained,  and  which  is  not  in  the  vicinity  of 
standing  water.  The  researches  which  have  been  made 
within  a  few  years  by  physicians  and  sanitary  com- 
missions have  abundantly  proved  that  the  permanent 
presence  of  water  in  the  soil  upon  which  a  dwelling 
is  built,  or  the  presence  of  standing  water  near  it,  is  a 
source  of  some  of  our  most  fatal  diseases.  The  aim, 
therefore,  should  be  to  secure  a  site  free  from  this  dan- 
ger. The  bottoms  of  valleys  are  also  to  be  avoided,  not 
only  on  this  account,  but  because  any  dampness  or  mi- 
asmatic influence  engendered  upon  the  hills  around  is 
likely  to  flow  down  into  them.  The  summits  of  high 
hills,  however,  are  to  be  shunned,  on  account  of  the 
trouble  involved  in  climbing  to  them,  and  because  of 
their  exposure  to  "winds  and  storms.  One  should  build 
under  the  shelter  of  a  hill,  upon  its  southern,  sunny 
slope,  rather  than  upon  its  summit.  In  the  larger  part 
of  our  country  the  advantage  of  such  a  situation  will 
be  felt  during  the  greater  part  of  the  year,  and  amid 
the  heats  of  summer  such  an  exposure  will  be  more 
favored  by  the  grateful  and  mitigating  breezes  than 
almost  any  other.  If  one  can  build  his  house  near  a 


118  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

wood,  so  that  he  may  have  that  as  a  screen  from  the 
cold  winds,  let  him  do  so.  He  will  find  the  trees  a 
charming  background  for  his  dwelling,  and  a  source 
of  comfort  and  pleasure  in  many  ways.  A  little  care 
will  enable  one,  in  most  of  our  states,  to  establish  him- 
self on  some  wooded  or  partially  wooded  slope,  where 
all  the  demands  of  healthfulness  shall  be  met,  and  from 
which  he  may  look  out  upon  a  pleasant  landscape.  In  a 
country  of  so  much  natural  beauty  as  ours,  it  is  a  pity 
that  so  many  have  fixed  their  homes,  seemingly,  with 
so  little  reference  either  to  comfort  or  pleasantness. 

We  have  said  if  one  can  build  near  a  wood,  let 
him  do  so.  Near  a  wood,  but  not  in  it.  It  is  a 
great  mistake  for  one  to  bury  himself  in  a  forest.  We 
need  sunshine  more  than  shade,  and  can  better  dis- 
pense with  the  latter  than  the  former.  Woods  are  de- 
sirable for  a  screen,  and  to  give  certain  pleasant  effects 
to  the  surroundings  of  a  home,  but  this  does  not  re- 
quire that  we  should  be  under  their  shadows  or  the 
drippings  of  their  branches.  They  are  better  farther 
away.  Their  effectiveness  as  a  screen  from  winter 
blasts  is  as  complete  when  several  rods  distant  as  when 
they  are  close  by  us,  and  for  all  effects  of  beauty  and 
embellishment  a  little  distance  is  quite  desirable.  If 
one  can  have  two  or  three  well -grown  trees  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  his  house,  it  is  enough.  But 
sunshine  he  must  have,  and  he  should  have  it  in  every 
room  of  his  house,  even  in  pantries  and  store-rooms,  for 
they  are  the  sweeter  for  a  sun-bath  every  day. 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE.  H9 

On  this  account  our  houses  should  not  be  made  to 
face,  as  they  usually  do,  the  cardinal  points  of  the  com- 
pass, but  rather  be  set  diagonally  in  reference  to  them ; 
in  other  words,  the  corners  of  the  house,  and  not  its 
sides,  should  face  those  points.  For  the  same  reason 
our  streets  should  not  run  in  north  and  south,  east 
and  west,  directions,  but  diagonally  to  those  courses. 
Then  at  some  time  in  the  course  of  the  day  the  sun 
would  shine  upon  all  sides  of  the  house,  and  therefore 
into  every  room  in  it,  whereas  now  the  rooms  upon  the 
north  side  of  our  houses,  during  the  winter  months,  are 
unvisited  by  the  sun,  and  every  one  knows  that  they 
are  the  least  comfortable  and  least  pleasant  rooms. 

Our  country  houses  have  too  commonly  been  either 
of  the  shabby  or  the  showy  sort,  rather  than  homes 
of  comfort  and  taste.  They  have  been  either  cheap 
and  ill-built  structures,  destitute  of  every  sign  of  hu- 
man taste,  mere  barns  almost,  or  they  have  been  pre- 
tentious, built  more  for  show  than  for  convenience  and 
daily  use  and  comfort.  What  is  wanted  is  a  style  of 
buildings  which,  while  differing  among  themselves  in 
minor  features,  even  as  persons  and  families  differ  in 
look  and  character,  shall  yet  have  a  common  appear- 
ance of  having  been  made  for  human  beings  to  dwell 
in,  and  to  be  the  home  of  tender  and  refined  feelings 
and  tastes.  On  the  one  hand,  simplicity  will  be  adorn- 
ed and  dignified  by  taste  and  refinement,  and,  on  the 
other,  the  most  elaborate  structure  will  be  elaborate 
only  for  purposes  of  utility  and  comfort,  and  not 


120  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

for  show  or  display.  We  want  no  show-rooms  in  the 
country,  no  rooms  to  be  opened  only  on  company  oc- 
casions. City  style  and  manners  may,  perhaps,  call  for 
these.  But  in  the  country  house  no  room  and  no  furni- 
ture should  be  too  good  for  the  daily  use  and  enjoyment 
of  the  household.  "We  are  not  called  upon  to  treat  our 
neighbors  and  visitors  better  than  ourselves.  There  is 
no  sufficient  reason  why  the  largest  and  pleasantest 
chamber  should  be  kept  in  reserve  for  a  chance  visitor 
to  occupy  only  once  or  twice  a  year,  and  the  well- 
furnished  parlor  be  opened  only  when  "  we  have  com- 
pany." It  is  a  wrong  to  ourselves  to  do  so.  Those 
who  occupy  the  house  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
days  of  the  year  ought  to  have  the  best  of  it  rather 
than  the  visitor  of  a  day  or  an  hour.  We  want  the 
refining  influence  of  the  best  surroundings.  It  is  bar- 
barous in  tendency  for  a  family  to  spend  the  larger 
part  of  its  time  in  the  kitchen  and  in  small  and  scant- 
ily furnished  bedrooms.  The  children  need  the  cult- 
ure and  refining  influence  which  come  from  familiarity 
with  the  best  things  that  can  be  put  within  their  reach  ; 
and  to  be  brought  up  within  sight  of  show-rooms  and 
nice  furniture,  which  yet  they  must  not  enjoy,  gives 
them  false  ideas  of  life,  teaches  them  to  put  show  for 
substance,  and  prepares  them  to  grow  up  with  a  double 
character,  a  feeling  that  it  matters  little  how  or  in  what 
spirit  they  habitually  live,  if  only  they  can  put  on  the 
proper  appearance  when  occasion  demands. 

Let  the  best,  then,  be  used — used  by  all  the  household. 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE. 

Let  the  amplest  rooms,  the  best  furniture,  and  the 
finest  prospects  from  windows  be  the  daily  enjoyment 
of  all.  If  visitors  come,  let  them  have  that  truest  and 
pleasantest  welcome,  a  share  with  the  family  of  those 
things  which  they  daily  use,  rather  than  special  privi- 
leges and  attentions,  which  latter  would  keep  them  all 
the  while  from  being  at  ease.  We  are  persuaded  that 
if  many  of  our  village  families  would  move  forward 
from  their  rear  offices  and  cramped  bedrooms  so  as  to 
occupy  the  ampler  apartments  now  so  often  closed  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  time,  devoting  the  abandoned 
rooms  to  conveniences  which  now  they  lack,  making 
them  into  wash-rooms,  bath-rooms,  and  store-rooms, 
a  new  life  would  dawn  upon  them,  and  they  would 
soon  wonder  how  they  could  have  lived  as  they  did, 
when  the  means  of  better  living  were  all  the  while  at 
hand.  Such  a  removal  would  lift  the  whole  family  life 
to  a  new  and  higher  plane.  It  would  make  it  more 
dignified  and  more  tasteful.  It  would  inspire  it  with 
new  ideas  and  feelings.  It  would  cultivate  and  in- 
tensify the  home  feeling.  It  would  form  new  ties  to 
hold  the  family  together  and  give  a  new  meaning  to 
the  word  home. 

This  is  not  a  treatise  on  architecture,  or  we  might  say 
much  more  on  the  construction  of  the  country  dwell- 
ing-house. We  assume  that  one  about  to  build  a  house 
in  the  country  will  call  in  the  aid  of  a  competent  archi- 
tect, or,  if  we  may  not  assume  this,  we  urge  it  upon 
all  as  the  best  means  of  securing  a  satisfactory  result. 

I 


122  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

Every  dwelling,  as  we  have  said,  ought  to  be  to  some 
extent  an  expression  of  the  character  of  its  occupants. 
It  should  indicate  by  its  appearance,  its  site,  its  form, 
its  surroundings,  what  sort  of  people  have  it  for  their 
home.  Therefore  every  house  should  be  planned  by 
those  who  are  to  live  in  it.  They  know  best  what  they 
want  a  house  for,  and,  consequently,  wyhat  kind  of  a 
house  they  want.  On  this  account,  they  should  deter- 
mine its  general  and  many  of  its  particular  arrange- 
ments. Yet,  even  in  these  an  architect  may  often 
make  suggestions  of  the  utmost  importance,  wrhich  will 
essentially  modify  the  plan  of  the  builder.  It  is  the 
business  of  an  architect  to  deal  with  the  various  details 
and  modifications  of  structures.  He  is  conversant  with 
the  possible  alterations  of  plan,  and  the  adaptations  of 
means  to  uses.  He  has  thought  of  them,  and  made 
them  familiar  to  his  mind  as  they  cannot  be  to  any 
other  class.  Few  persons  about  to  build  have  anything 
more  than  a  rude  idea  of  what  they  want.  The  proper 
adjustment  of  rooms  to  one  another,  so  as  best  to  serve 
the  purposes  of  the  building  and  the  comfort  of  the  oc- 
cupants, they  are  quite  incapable  of  determining,  while 
in  regard  to  the  proper  architectural  form  of  the  struct- 
ure, within  and  without,  they  know  almost  nothing. 
And  this  is  simply  because  it  is  not  their  business  to 
know  these  things.  It  is  the  part  of  true  wisdom, 
therefore,  for  every  one  who  is  about  to  build  him 
a  house,  to  consult  an  architect  from  the  beginning. 
Nor  let  it  be  thought  that  where  the  contemplated 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE.  123 

structure  is  to  be  of  the  humbler  sort,  because  there 
is  little  money  which  can  be  expended  for  its  con- 
struction, the  services  of  an  architect  can  be  dispensed 
with,  and  a  saving  of  cost  be  secured  thereby.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  in  the  case  of  the  smaller  and  cheap- 
er class  of  structures  that  the  greatest  advantage  is  to 
be  secured  by  the  services  of  the  architect.  His  taste 
and  knowledge  of  his  art  will  enable  him  to  put  the 
money  and  materials  placed  at  his  disposal  into  the 
most  serviceable  and  tasteful  shape,  and  procure  for  his 
employer  that  which  will  be  permanently  satisfying. 
But  let  no  one  mistake  the  mere  carpenter  for  an  archi- 
tect. The  one  who  contemplates  building  a  house  will 
have  to  go  to  the  neighboring  town  or  city,  probably, 
to  find  one  who  can  fitly  be  called  an  architect,  for  no 
village  can  furnish  sufficient  employment  to  induce 
one  to  make  his  residence  there.  But  it  will  be  worth 
one's  while  to  go  twenty-five  or  fifty  miles,  or  even  more, 
if  need  be,  in  order  to  secure  the  services  of  an  architect. 
If  he  had  a  suit  at  law  pending,  or  a  legal  question 
to  be  settled,  involving  only  a  small  amount,  he  would 
not  hesitate  to  travel  as  far  and  to  be  at  any  expense 
necessary  to  secure  proper  professional  advice.  So  let 
him  take  his  case  or  question  of  building  to  the  archi- 
tect and  tell  him  what  he  wants,  and  then  leave  it  with 
him  to  make  a  plan  for  him  and  a  contract,  with  proper 
specifications,  just  as  when  any  one  commits  his  case  to  a 
lawyer  he  leaves  its  management  with  him.  In  the  case 
of  the  building  the  result  involves,  not  the  gain  or  loss 


124:  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

of  a  small  debt  or  the  recovery  of  a  piece  of  property, 
but  the  construction  of  that  which,  by  its  tasteful  form, 
and  convenience  of  arrangement,  and  substantial  quali- 
ty, is  to  be  a  life-long  comfort  and  pleasure,  or,  for  want 
of  these,  a  continual  source  of  disappointment  and  re- 
gret. The  commission  paid  to  a  good  architect  for  his 
services  is  probably  the  most  profitable  expenditure  in- 
curred in  building  a  house. 

But  some  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  seek  the  advice 
of  an  architect,  or  will  not  deem  it  expedient.  Let  us 
make  a  few  suggestions,  therefore,  for  such  and  for  any 
who  may  heed  them.  They  will  be  in  the  main  such 
as  any  good  architect  would  make. 

Having  fixed  upon  a  proper  site  for  the  building,  one 
sheltered  rather  than  exposed,  withdrawn  somewhat 
from  the  street  and  the  noise  and  dust  of  the  passers-by, 
rather  than  thrust  conspicuously  upon  the  view,  if  there 
is  not  absolute  exemption  from  dampness  resulting  from 
standing  water  in  the  neighborhood  or  from  a  wet  and 
springy  subsoil,  the  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  thor- 
oughly underdrain,  by  means  of  tiles,  or  ditches  four 
feet  in  depth  and  partially  filled  with  stones  at  the  bot- 
tom, the  whole  vicinity  of  the  house.  Let  these  drains 
lead  the  wet  away  from  the  house,  and  let  one,  at  least, 
be  connected  with  the  cellar,  and  at  such  a  depth  that 
no  water  can  by  any  possibility  find  standing-place 
there.  Let  there  be  no  mistake  or  neglect  in  this  mat- 
ter 'of  drainage.  There  are  many  pieces  of  ground 
which  appear  dry  upon  the  surface,  but  which,  owing 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE.  125 

to  a  tenacious  subsoil  or  to  the  abundance  of  springs 
near  at  hand,  are  saturated  with  moisture.  One  who 
has  not  tried  the  experiment  will  be  surprised  to  see 
the  quantity  of  water  which  will  escape  from  drains 
properly  constructed  in  such  ground,  and  how  con- 
stant will  be  the  flow.  It  is  only  by  such  drains  that 
moist  land  can  be  made  a  healthful  place  for  a  dwell- 
ing, or  be  brought  into  the  best  condition  for  tillage. 
It  is  safe,  indeed,  to  presume  that  almost  every  site 
chosen  for  a  village'  residence  will  be  improved,  both 
as  to  healthfulness  and  profitable  cultivation  of  the 
ground,  by  being  thoroughly  underdrained. 

The  site  being  thus  properly  chosen  and  prepared,  let 
the  contemplated  building  be  planned  consistently  and 
intelligently  as  a  whole.  Let  its  outward  shape,  and 
color,  if  possible,  be  in  harmony  with  the  site  and  its 
surroundings.  A  house  in  the  country,  where  land  is 
usually  abundant  and  one  is  not  limited  in  ground- 
space,  should  spread  out  laterally  and  rest  broadly  upon 
the  soil,  rather  than  be  lifted  high  into  the  air  upon  a 
narrow  foundation  after  the  manner  of  city  houses. 
It  should  seem  to  grow  out  of  the  ground  almost, 
and  to  rest  solidly  upon  it,  bidding  defiance  to  any 
storms  that  may  sweep  along ;  and  as  one  family 
need  or  convenience  after  another  may  call  for  more 
room  here  and  there,  let  this  be  gained  by  proper 
additions  on  the  one  side  or  the  other,  and  thus  let 
the  house  ramble  out  on  the  ground  as  though  a  live 
and  growing  thing.  It  will  be  all  the  prettier  and 


126  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

better  for  so  doing,  for  thus  freely  moulding  itself  to 
the  wants  of  its  occupants. 

Of  course,  as  already  intimated,  we  should  prefer  to 
build  of  stone,  hoping  to  find  it  near  at  hand,  and  thus 
to  build  solidly,  and  make  the  house,  though  but  the 
simplest  cottage,  all  the  more  a  part  of  the  solid  earth 
itself ;  and  we  should  choose  our  stone  so  as  to  get  not 
only  solidity,  but  a  pleasing  tint  of  color,  if  possible  in 
harmony  with  objects  around.  On  the  one  hand,  we 
would  avoid  a  very  dark-colored  stone,  as  giving  a  too 
sombre  effect  to  the  house ;  though  even  then,  if  the 
walls  are  laid  up  in  a  rough  way,  and  with  stones  for  the 
most  part  of  small  dimensions,  the  mortar  will  serve  to 
lighten  up  the  color.  On  the  other  hand,  if  we  were 
building  in  the  vicinity  of  a  quarry  of  marble  of  purest 
white,  we  should  prefer  to  go  some  distance  in  order  to 
secure  stone  of  a  different  color.  Nature,  in  all  her 
bouquet  of  colors,  does  not  give  us  white  except  in 
bits,  as  in  the  flowers.  She  does  not  give  us  white  in 
masses.  Even  her  marble  is  white  only  when  freshly 
broken  open,  and  then  she  hastens  to  cover  its  surface 
again  with  a  softer  and  more  pleasant  tint,  toning  down 
its  glare  and  bringing  it  into  harmony  with  surrounding 
objects.  The  winter  snows,  to  be  sure,  are  white,  but 
there  are  special  reasons  for  this,  and  we  all  know  how 
disagreeable  the  whiteness  is — how,  oftentimes,  we  have 
to  hide  it  from  our  eyes  <by  veils  and  colored  glasses. 
It  is  strange,  in  view  of  these  facts,  that  our  people 
should  have  chosen  white  so  extensively  as  they  have 


THE  COUNTRY"  DWELLING-HOUSE.  127 

done  as  the  color  for  their  houses.  It  throws  them  out 
of  all  harmony  with  objects  around,  and  breaks  up,  often- 
times, what  would  otherwise  be  a  very  pleasant  picture. 
A  white  house,  especially  in  the  glare  of  the  full  sun- 
light, is  a  blot  upon  the  landscape.  It  is  tolerable  only 
when  almost  surrounded  and  hidden  by  trees,  and  so 
has  its  color  really  changed. 

Equally  out  of  taste,  though  not  so  disagreeable,  is 
the  custom  of  covering  our  houses,  no  matter  what  their 
color,  with  patches  of  vivid  green  in  the  form  of  blinds 
to  the  windows.  Why  the  blinds  of  a  house  should  be 
of  a  different  color  from  the  house  itself  it  would  be 
difficult  to  assign  a  reason,  while  it  is  not  at  all  difficult 
to  see  that  by  this  arrangement  what  would  otherwise 
be  the  solid  bulk  of  the  house  is  broken  up  into  patches 
— the  house  loop-holed,  so  to  speak,  and  all  dignity  and 
massiveness  of  effect  utterly  lost. 

Where  stone  is  not  used  for  building,  but  wood  takes 
its  place,  there  is  a  somewhat  wider  range  of  choice  in 
respect  to  color.  Some  one  has  given  as  a  rule  by  which 
to  secure  proper  harmony  of  the  house  with  its  surround- 
ings, to  pull  up  a  piece  of  turf,  growing  in  the  vicinity, 
and  paint  the  house  the  same  color  as  that  of  the  bottom 
of  the  turf.  Whether  this  rule  be  a  good  one  or  not, 
one  cannot  go  amiss,  in  choosing  a  pigment  for  his  house, 
if  he  copies  the  tints  which  he  may  find  on  the  bark  of 
the  trees  close  around  him,  or  if  he  takes  almost  any  of 
the  grays,  or  drabs,  or  neutral  tints  which  are  so  easily 
made  by  a  mixture  of  the  more  positive  colors. 


128  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

One  can  hardly  be  too  careful  to  have  his  content 
plated  house  thoroughly  planned  in  all  its  parts,  and  in 
their  relation  to  one  another,  before  beginning  to  build. 
With  a  well-digested  plan,  the  work  of  building  is  half 
done.  From  cellar-floor  to  chimney-top  the  house  should 
form  a  consistent  whole,  its  parts  all  mutually  dependent. 
The  method  of  warming  and  ventilating  the  house,  for 
instance,  will  modify  the  construction  of  the  cellar.  If 
a  furnace  is  to  be  used,  then  a  chimney-flue  must  be  car- 
ried up  from  the  cellar,  and  a  cold  air  box  and  other 
appliances  must  be  provided  for  in  the  very  laying 
of  the  foundations.  So  if  water  is  to  be  carried  freely 
throughout  the  house,  this  will  necessitate  certain  ar- 
rangements which  should  be  provided  for  at  the  outset. 
All  such  things  as  air-ducts  and  water-pipes  are  more 
easily  arranged,  and  more  cheaply,  when  the  house  is 
contrived  and  is  in  process  of  building  than  afterwards. 

A  cheap  and  effective  method  for  protecting  houses 
from  the  excessive  cold  of  winter,  and  equally  from  the 
heats  of  summer,  ought  to  be  adopted  in  every  house. 
This  consists  in  interposing  a  space  of  air  between  the 
rooms  of  the  house  and  the  outer  walls  and  roof.  This 
is  easily  done  in  the  case  of  a  stone  or  brick  building  by 
means  of  what  is  called  "  firring  out."  Strips  of  wood, 
an  inch  in  thickness,  are  nailed  to  the  walls,  and  the  lath- 
ing fastened  to  these.  Air,  when  confined,  being  one  of 
the  best  non-conductors  of  heat  and  cold,  a  thin  space  of 
this  kind  is  sufficient  to  prevent  the  cold  or  heat  from 
penetrating  rapidly  the  rooms  thus  protected.  Hence  a 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE.  129 

house  so  treated  will  be  warmer  in  winter  and  cooler  in 
summer  than  it  would  be  if  built  in  the  ordinary  way. 
In  the  case  of  wooden  buildings  the  same  effect  is  se- 
cured by  filling  in  the  spaces  between  the  studding  with 
bricks  set  upon  edge  and  laid  in  coarse  mortar.  The 
cheapest  bricks  can  be  used  for  this  purpose.  Or  a  par- 
tition of  lath  and  plaster  may  be  placed  half  way  between 
the  outer  wall,  or  weather  boarding,  and  the  ordinary 
plaster  wall  of  the  rooms.  This  will  leave  two  air- 
spaces, each  an  inch  and  a  half  wide.  When  houses  are 
built  so  that  the  chambers  have  their  ceilings  formed 
wholly  or  in  part  by  the  roof  timbers,  it  is  necessary 
that  this  double  plastering  should  be  extended  to  these 
as  well  as  to  the  side  walls  of  the  house.  The  expense 
of  this  arrangement  is  so  small  (not  more,  probably,  than 
fifty  dollars  for  a  house  of  ample  dimensions)  that  no 
one  should  neglect  so  effective  a  protection  against  the 
discomforts  of  heat  and  cold. 

The  place  of  ornament,  and  the  extent  to  which  it 
should  be  used,  is  an  important  matter  of  consideration 
for  every  builder.  It  is  a  safe  rule  for  one's  guidance 
that  no  ornament  is  to  be  allowed  for  its  own  sake  alone, 
but  only  as  it  is  an  embellishment  of  what  is  useful. 
And  the  embellishment  should  never  go  to  the  extent 
of  attracting  attention  to  itself,  to  the  exclusion  of  at- 
tention from  that  which  is  sought  to  be  embellished. 
A  veranda,  for  example,  is  a  desirable  feature  of  a 
house.  It  affords  opportunity  for  sitting  or  walking  in 
the  open  air  while  protected  from  sun  and  storm.  But 


130  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

when  such  a  structure  is  placed  upon  the  northern  side 
of  a  house,  where  there  is  always  abundant  shade,  and 
where  no  one  would  wish  to  be  during  the  storm,  and  so 
is  seen  to  have  been  built  because  it  was  thought  to  be 
a  pretty  thing  in  itself,  then  it  is  at  once  an  offence  to 
good  taste  and  shows  itself  a  useless  expenditure  of 
money.  The  roof  of  a  veranda,  again,  needs,  of  course, 
supporting  columns.  They  may  be  plain  and  simple, 
and  not  conspicuous  by  their  size,  for  the  weight  they 
have  to  carry  is  small.  But  when  they  are  expanded, 
as  they  not  unfrequently  are,  into  a  maze  of  elaborate 
wooden  lace -work  cut  out  of  thin  boards,  one  cries 
"  away  with  them"  at  once.  This  principle  of  judgment 
may  be  applied  to  all  ornamentation,  whether  of  the  ex- 
terior or  interior  of  the  house,  as  also  to  that  of  furni- 
ture and  dress.  Whenever  ornament  attracts  the  chief 
attention,  as  though  existing  for  itself,  we  may  well 
consider  it  out  of  place,  and  a  violation  of  good  taste. 
In  general,  the  style  of  building  in  the  country  should 
be  characterized  by  simplicity ;  and  ornaments,  whether 
within  or  without,  should  be  of  a  simple  rather  than  an 
elaborate  character.  They  should  partake  of  the  severe 
simplicity  of  nature  rather  than  the  intricate  nicety  of 
art.  And  so  doing,  they  will  be  really  more  beautiful 
than  anything  which  art  alone  can  give. 

But  especially  let  all  dishonest  ornamentation  be 
avoided,  as  also  dishonesty  of  any  sort.  The  prevalent 
custom  of  painting  and  graining  pine  and  other  cheap 
woods,  so  as  to  resemble  those  more  beautiful  or  costly, 


THE  COUNTRY  DWELLING-HOUSE. 

is  not  only  in  bad  taste,  but  bad  morality ;  and,  like  all 
bad  taste  and  bad  morality,  it  costs  more  than  that  which 
is  good.  These  imitations  never  really  deceive  one. 
No  one,  unless  it  be  a  child,  thinks  the  painted  pine  is 
oak  or  mahogany.  But  they  pretend  to  be  what  they 
are  not,  and  so  have  a  constantly  debauching  effect  upon 
those  who  see  and  tolerate  them.  From  seeing  such 
pretences  approved,  children  may  easily  grow  up  with 
the  belief  that  pretension  may  be  indulged  in  anything 
and  anywhere.  And  yet  we  have  these  misrepresenta- 
tions and  false  representations,  these  base  imitations, 
these  falsehoods  in  wood  and  paint  and  plaster,  not 
only  in  our  dwellings,  but  in  our  churches,  the  very 
temples  of  Truth.  Falsehood  may  be  said  to  be  ingrain- 
ed in  us  thus.  What  wonder  that  the  world  is  so  full 
of  shams  and  falsehoods  in  character,  when  it  is  so  full 
of  shams  and  falsehoods  in  carpentry ! 

And  then,  if  we  want  the  effect  of  the  beautiful  grain 
of  woods,  why  not  have  it  in  an  honest  way,  by  using  va- 
rious woods  just  as  they  are,  and  as  they  are  furnished 
us  by  nature,  instead  of  first  covering  up  her  beautiful 
work  with  paint,  and  then  upon  that  dead  leaden  sur- 
face endeavoring  to  make  a  poor  imitation  of  what  is 
beyond  all  imitation  ?  Our  common  pine  has  a  beauti- 
ful grain.  By  a  little  care  in  the  selection  of  boards 
with  reference  to  the  development  of  the  grain,  and 
simply  oiling  or  varnishing  them  after  they  have  been 
wrought  into  doors  and  the  various  finishings  of  a  room, 
we  may  have,  at  little  cost,  a  room  more  beautiful  than 


132  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

any  grainer's  brush  can  give  us.  Then  we  have  the 
maple,  the  ash,  the  white-wood,  the  birch,  the  catalpa, 
the  walnut,  and  a  hundred  other  woods,  which  only 
need  to  be  treated  in  the  same  way,  and  they  will  give 
us,  used  separately  or  in  combination,  an  almost  infinite 
variety  of  effects.  Every  room  in  the  house  may  thus 
have  a  character  and  expression  of  its  own,  and  almost 
all  needed  embellishment  may  thus  be  had  in  a  natural 
and  honest  way,  and  at  no  inconsiderable  saving  of  the 
cost  of  paint  and  carpentry  mouldings,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  saving  of  much  labor  needed  for  the  scrubbing 
and  cleansing  of  the  latter. 

Such,  it  seems  to  us,  should  be  the  common  country 
house.  Wealth  may  indulge  in  more  elaborate,  costly, 
and  highly  finished  structures ;  but  for  the  mass  of  those 
whose  residence  is,  and  is  to  be,  in  the  country,  tasteful 
simplicity  should  be  the  characteristic  of  their  dwell- 
ings. Their  houses  should  be  homes  rather  than  show- 
places,  and  their  chief  embellishment  that  of  the  beau- 
tiful life  lived  in  them.  "What  money  is  at  command 
in  our  villages  should  be  expended  for  purposes  of  edu- 
cation, and  for  the  social  improvement  of  the  commu- 
nity rather  than  for  display  in  architectural  construction. 
A  rich  man  in  a  village  had  better  found  a  library  or 
endow  a  school  of  high  order  than  build  a  palace  for 
himself.  The  library  and  the  school  will  live  and  im- 
part benefits  to  many  generations  to  come.  His  palace 
he  does  not  know  that  any  son  of  his  will  occupy  when 
he  is  gone. 


THE  COUNTRY   DWELLING-HOUSE.  133 

In  village  life  let  show  and  parade  be  discouraged, 
and  let  the  endeavor  be,  on  the  basis  of  industry, 
frugality,  and  simplicity,  to  carry  the  general  culture 
in  intelligence,  taste,  morals,  and  virtue  as  high  as  pos- 
sible. 


134  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FENCES    AND    HEDGES. 

"The  hedge  was  thick  as  is  a  castle  wall, 
So  that  who  list  without  to  stand  or  go, 
Though  he  would  all  the  day  pry  to  and  fro, 
He  could  not  see  if  there  were  any  wight 
Within  or  no." — CHAUCER. 

AMONG  the  things  that  have  much  to  do  with  the 
good  appearance  of  a  village  are  the  fences  by  which 
the  grounds  are  divided  from  one  another,  or  which 
serve  as  boundaries  of  the  roads.  In  most  cases  cer- 
tainly they  are  anything  but  pleasing  objects  in  them- 
selves, while  they  often  do  much  to  detract  from  the 
beauty  of  the  country  where  they  abound.  In  general 
they  may  be  regarded  as  an  evil,  though  sometimes, 
perhaps,  a  necessary  evil.  Boundaries  and  divisions  of 
lands  to  some  extent  we  must  have.  Divisions  of  farms 
into  separate  fields  are  also  necessary  for  the  best  car- 
rying-on of  the  work  of  agriculture.  The  pastures  must 
usually  be  separated  from  the  cornfields  by  some  ef- 
fective barrier.  But  a  great  deal  less  of  this  is  neces- 
sary than  many  think;  and  every  unnecessary  fence 
taxes  the  proprietor  with  a  needless  expense,  while  it  is 
a  disfigurement  to  house  or  grounds,  perhaps  to  both, 


FENCES  AND  HEDGES.  135 

and  to  the  general  aspect  of  the  vicinit\T.  In  many 
parts  of  our  country  the  subdivision  of  lands  and  the 
consequent  expenditure  for  fences  has  been  carried  to  a 
lamentable  extreme.  It  is  not  unusual  to  find  single 
acres  of  land,  or  several  pieces  of  only  a  few  acres  each, 
severed  from  a  large  farm  and  enclosed  by  themselves. 
This  not  only  involves  a  great  expense  for  the  construc- 
tion and  maintenance  of  fences,  but  oftentimes  the 
waste  of  much  time  in  opening  and  shutting  gates,  in 
the  passage  from  one  portion  of  the  farm  to  another. 
Added  to  this,  also,  is  the  loss  of  time  in  the  cultivation 
of  such  small  enclosures  occasioned  by  the  necessity  of 
frequent  turnings  of  the  teams  and  machines  employed. 
Then  there  is  a  loss  of  ground  involved  also  wherever 
there  are  fences,  the  cultivation  never  coming  quite 
close  to  them ;  and  in  the  case  of  the  very  common 
zigzag  or  Virginia  fence,  the  loss  of  ground  for  cultiva- 
tion is  very  considerable,  while  this  unused  space  be- 
comes a  nursery  of  weeds  and  bushes,  at  the  same  time 
unprofitable  and  unsightly. 

The  expense  of  fences  is  not  considered  as  it  should 
be,  and  especially  the  fact  that  this  expense  increases  in 
proportion  as  the  divisions  of  our  farms  are  multiplied. 
For  instance,  if  we  enclose  a  piece  of  ground  measuring 
ten  rods  by  forty,  equal  to  two  acres  and  a  half,  it  will 
require  one  hundred  rods  of  fence,  which  at  one  dollar 
a  rod  makes  the  cost  of  fencing  forty  dollars  an  acre ; 
whereas  to  enclose  ten  acres,  or  forty  rods  square,  re- 
quires only  one  hundred  and  sixty  rods  of  fence,  mak- 


136  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

ing  the  cost  in  this  case  only  sixteen  dollars  an  acre.  In 
the  same  way  it  is  seen  that  if  we  enclose  forty  acres  in 
one  field,  the  cost  will  be  only  eight  dollars  an  acre,  and 
if  we  enclose  a  hundred  acres,  the  cost  will  be  reduced 
to  four  dollars  and  four  cents  an  acre.  The  great  dis- 
advantage, as  to  cost,  when  lands  are  divided  into  small 
fields,  is  thus  seen  at  once.  But  the  whole  story  is  not 
yet  told.  These  fences  need  to  be  renewed  in  from 
seven  to  ten  years.  Isow,  if  we  reckon  seven  per  cent, 
interest  on  the  original  cost  of  the  fence  and  ten  per 
cent,  for  depreciation  or  annual  repairs,  we  shall  have, 
in  addition  to  the  great  disparity  of  original  cost,  as  al- 
ready shown,  an  annual  cost  of  six  dollars  and  eighty 
cents  an  acre  in  the  case  of  the  field  of  two  acres  and  a 
half,  and  a  cost  of  only  eighty-five  cents  an  acre  in  the 
case  of  the  field  of  one  hundred  acres.  The  economical 
advantage  of  large  fields  is  thus  seen  yet  more  strik- 
ingly. We  are  persuaded  that  this  cutting -up  of 
farms  into  small  fields  might  be  much  lessened  and 
thereby  a  great  burden  be  taken  off  from  our  agricult- 
urists. Enough  might  be  saved  in  this  one  way  to 
make  the  difference  often  between  a  pecuniarily  suc- 
cessful and  thriving  farmer  and  one  who  is  running 
all  the  while  towards  bankruptcy.  The  saving  in  this 
item  alone  would  furnish  books,  pictures,  music,  and 
numerous  other  things  to  many  a  farmer's  house  where 
now  they  are  not  found,  because  they  cannot  be  af- 
forded. And  why  should  there  ordinarily  be  any  other 
divisions  on  our  farms  than  those  which  will  separate 


FENCES  AND   HEDGES.  137 

pasture  ground  from  that  used  for  tillage  ?  Why 
should  not  the  corn,  oats,  rye,  and  grass  be  allowed  to 
grow  side  by  side  in  the  same  general  enclosure  ?  They 
will  not  quarrel  or  trespass  on  each  other's  ground.* 
And  then  how  much  better  the  land  looks  when  the 
eye  can  range  over  large  surfaces,  with  the  graceful 
curves  which  nature  always  gives  them,  unbroken  by 
any  unsightly  and  stiff  cross  lines  of  fence !  Besides, 
if  smaller  divisions  are  needed,  as  they  may  be  tem- 
porarily, it  is  easy  to  make  them  by  means  of  movable 
structures  of  wood  or  wire.  These  must  come  into 
use  more  and  more,  as  we  realize  the  cost  and  incon- 
venience of  the  old  mode  of  enclosure,  and  the  wire 
fences  have  the  great  merit  of  being  comparatively  in- 
visible, and  therefore  not  being  a  blemish  to  the  land- 
scape. 

The  cost  involved  in  the  construction  and  repair  of  fences  on  a  single 
farm  may  not  be  readily  estimated,  partly  because  such  cost  accrues  not 
all  at  once,  but  gradually.  Yet  it  is  a  real  cost.  And  when  we  multiply 


*  If  our  farmers  and  village  residents  could  generally  visit  Europe,  they 
would  think  fences  less  necessary  than  they  now  do.  Throughout  Eng- 
land they  are  seldom  to  be  seen,  hedges  taking  their  places.  In  Belgium 
and  France  there  are  very  few  fences,  the  farms  stretching  side  by  side  for 
miles  with  no  visible  barriers  between.  In  Lombardy  and  Northern  Italy 
fences  are  hardly  known. 

The  comparative  scarcity  of  timber  in  some  parts  of  our  own  country 
has  happily  led  to  views  of  the  fence  question  which  are  in  accord  with 
what  we  have  been  saying.  In  Illinois  and  Iowa,  and  perhaps  others  of 
our  Western  States,  the  farmers  are  fencing  only  comparatively  small  por- 
tions of  their  lands,  relying  upon  herdsmen  to  watch  their  cattle  and  keep 
them  from  the  growing  crops. 

K 


138 


VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


this  cost  by  that  of  the  number  of  farms  in  an  entire  state,  the  sum  be- 
comes impressive.  A  few  years  ago  Mr.  Dodge,  the  statistician  of  the 
Agricultural  Department  at  Washington,  from  reports  received  from  in- 
telligent observers  in  all  parts  of  the  Union,  compiled  a  statement  from 
which  it  appears  that  the  whole  cost  offences  in  the  United  States  amounts 
to  $1,700,000,000  ;  and  the  cost  of  annual  repairs  to  $198,000,000.  The 
matter  is  one  of  so  much  interest  that  we  append  Mr.  Dodge's  tables. 

AMOUNT   AND    COST   OF    FENCES   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES. 


States. 

Acres  Fenced. 

Rods  of 
Fencing. 

Total  Cost  of 
Fencing. 

Maine  

4,377,925 

31,214,605 

$31,214,605 

New  Hampshire  

3,288,117 

28,771,023 

34,525,227 

Vermont  

4,164,917 

32,278,106 

42,929,880 

Massachusetts  

2,481,767 

21,095,019 

36,916  283 

Rhode  Island  

448,988 

4,489,880 

9,877,736 

Connecticut  

2,185,000 

19,883,500 

33,801,950 

New  York  ....             

20,549,909 

169  536,749 

228,874  611 

New  Jersev  

2,736,251 

25,310,321 

40,496  513 

Pennsvlvania  

16,374,641 

156,377,821 

179,834  494 

Delaware         .        .        . 

963,770 

6  023  562 

7  228  274 

Maryland  

4,112,936 

25,911,496 

32,389  370 

Virginia  

8,165,040 

40,825,200 

36,742  680 

North  Carolina  

8,902,909 

49,856,290 

37,392  217 

South  Carolina  

5,284,224 

26,421,120 

21,136,896 

Georgia  

11,035,877 

60  255  888 

45  191  916 

Florida  

736,172 

3,415,838 

2  459  403 

Alabama  

7,536,947 

45,975,376 

36,780  300 

Mississippi  

6,437,137 

27,035,975 

25,954  536 

Louisiana  

2,045,640 

8,182,560 

8,182  560 

Texas  

6,822,757 

30,020,130 

33,022  143 

Arkansas  

3,294,189 

19,435,715 

18,463  9';9 

Tennessee  

10,027,762 

65  681,841 

62  397  748 

West  Virginia  

4,067,  ">89 

36  605,601 

32  945  040 

Kentucky  

13,381,978 

80  '>9  1,868 

76  277  274 

Ohio  

18,090.776 

155  580,673 

155  580  673 

Michigan  
Indiana  

7,558,040 
14  111  963 

60,464,320 
95  961  348 

57,441,104 
100  759  415 

Illinois  

22,606  406 

107  380  498 

128  856  513 

Wisconsin  

8,807  332 

46  °38  493 

39  309  719 

Minnesota. 

1  857  681 

7  430  7^4 

6  539  037 

Iowa  

7,517,173 

31  572,126 

34  729  338 

Missouri  

12,274  766 

64,442,5^1 

64  442  521 

Kansas  

1,576  802 

6  701  408 

7  371  548 

Nebraska  

517  6'->4 

2  070  496 

2  174  090 

California  

4,974  504 

24  141  642 

29  598  298 

Oregon  

1,116  290 

5  023  305 

5  274  470 

Nevada  .                     . 

74  115 

296  460 

444  690 

FENCES  AND   HEDGES. 


139 


COST   OP    REPAIRS   OP   FENCES. 


States. 

Cost 
per  100 
Rods. 

Total  Cost. 

States. 

Cost 
per  100 
Rods. 

Total  Cost 

Mjiine  

$3.06 
3.80 
4.00 
4.50 
5.75 
7.50 
7.06 
9.80 
6.32 
7.50 
7.80 
3.51 
3.40 
4.00 
4.00 
3.80 
4.65 
5.26 
6.51 
8.50 
5.92 
5.00 
4.50 
5.15 

$955,166 
1,093,298 
1,291,124 
949,275 
258,168 
1,491,262 
11,969,294 
2,480,411 
9,883,078 
451,767 
2,021,096 
1,432,964 
1,695,113 
1,056,844 
2,410,235 
129,801 
2,137,853 
1,422,092 
532,684 
2,551,712 
1,150,594 
3,284,092 
1,647,252 
4,035,031 

Ohio  

$5.25 
4.00 
5.40 
9.50 
4.55 
5  10 

$8,167,965 
2,418,572 
5,181,912 
10,201,140 
2,103,851 
378,966 
3,094,068 
3,157,683 
452,345 
175,992 
1,797,039 
376,747 
26,681 

New  Hampshire. 
Vermont         . 

Michigan  

Indiana  

Massachusetts  . 
Rhode  Island.  .  . 
Connecticut  .... 
New  York  
New  Jersey  
Pennsylvania...  . 
Delaware        .  .  . 

Illinois  

Wisconsin  

Minnesota 

Iowa  

9.80 
4  90 

Missouri      

Kansas  

6.75 
8.50 
8.50 
7.50 
9  00 

Nebraska  

Maryland. 

Oregon  

North  Carolina.. 
South  Carolina.. 
Georgia  

Nevada  

Total  cost  of  an- 

$93,963,187 
$104.852,995 

Florida  

Interest   on   the 
original  cost  at 
6  per  cent  

Alabama  

Mississippi. 

Louisiana.  
Texas  

Arkansas  
Tennessee  
West  Virginia.. 
Kentucky  

Grand  total,  ex- 
clusive   of    re- 
building fences. 

$198,806,182 

In  the  closely  settled  portions  of  our  villages,  of 
course  the  grounds  will  necessarily  be  in  rather  small 
enclosures.  But  even  here  a  good  deal  of  fencing  may 
be  dispensed  with,  and  where  this  cannot  be  done  the 
fences  can  be  made  less  obtrusive  and  less  positively 
ugly  than  they  usually  are.  Anything  almost  would  be 
an  improvement  upon  the  generality  of  our  fences. 
They  are  unsightly  things,  for  the  most  part.  Nothing 
can  be  less  tasteful  than  our  common  picket  fence,  for 
instance,  with  its  stiff  array  of  pikes  set  up  as  a  barri- 
cade around  our  dwellings,  as  though  every  passing 


14:0  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

man  or  beast  were  accounted  an  enemy  against  whom 
we  must  entrench  ourselves.  And  then  when  we  give 
up  the  picket  or  palisade  fence,  it  is  usually  to  replace 
it  with  something  as  repulsive  in  iron,  or  some  elabo- 
rate gingerbread  extravagance  of  the  carpenter,  alto- 
gether incongruous  and  uncalled  for  and  a  great  waste 
of  money. 

As  we  become  more  civilized  and  tasteful  we  shall 
feel  less  need  of  these  barricades  between  us  and  our 
fellow-men,  and  shall  be  unwilling  to  mar  the  sweep 
and  beauty  of  the  lines  which  nature  has  given  to  the 
surface  of  our  fields,  as  we  now  so  often  do  by  these 
stiff  and  tasteless  structures.  Many  a  house  of  respect- 
able look,  taken  by  itself,  is  now  dwarfed  and  h'alf  hid- 
den by  a  huge  and  expensive  fence  stretched  across  its 
front,  useless  because  not  enclosing  ground  enough  for 
the  cultivation  of  flower  or  shrub,  and  not  needed  to 
prevent  any  unwelcome  intrusion,  but  which,  if  re- 
moved, might  give  place  to  a  beautiful  sweep  of  lawn 
stretching  down  to  the  very  edge  of  the  travelled  road- 
way and  adding  at  once  dignity  and  beauty  to  the 
dwelling.  Such  a  lawn  is  the  best  possible  setting  for 
a  house,  be  it  large  or  small.  It  is  the  best  possible 
setting  also  for  a  few  flowers  or  flowering  shrubs. 

And  if  any  one  interposes  the  objection  that  without 
fences  cattle  will  trample  the  flowers,  or  look  in  at  the 
windows,  the  ready  answer  is  that  it  ought  no  longer  to 
be  thought  possible  that  any  village  will  allow  swine  or 
cattle  to  make  pasture  ground  of  its  highways,  or  even 


FENCES  AND  HEDGES. 

go  upon  them  without  a  keeper.  It  ought  to  be  under- 
stood, also,  as  it  very  frequently  is  not,  that  the  roads 
really  belong  to  the  proprietors  of  the  adjacent  lands  on 
either  side  of  them,  and  not  to  the  town  or  the  public 
generally.  A  villager,  if  he  is  the  owner  of  a  plot  of 
ground,  owns  to  the  centre  of  the  highway  in  front  of 
him.  All  the  right  the  public  have  in  the  road  is  the 
right  to  travel  over  it,  and  that  too  not  where  they 
please,  but  in  the  particular  path  designed  and  prepared 
for  travel.  The  adjoining  proprietors  own  and  have  as 
much  right  to  the  grass  or  the  fruit  which  grows  on  the 
road  in  front  of  them  as  to  that  in  their  pastures  or 
their  orchards.  Hence  the  man  who  pastures  his  cattle 
on  the  road  is  a  trespasser  upon  his  neighbors  who  own 
the  road,  and  may  be  prosecuted  as  such.  His  cattle 
may  be  taken  and  impounded. 

And  as  a  man  may  take  away  the  barricade  'fence  in 
front  of  his  house,  in  most  cases  with  manifest  improve- 
ment to  the  appearance  and  pecuniary  value  of  his 
premises,  so  he  ought  to  be  at  liberty  to  remove  his 
farm  fences  by  the  roadside  to  any  extent  without  sub- 
jecting himself  to  any  damage  from  cattle  running  at 
large.  In  one  state,  at  least — Connecticut — no  man  is 
obliged  to  build  a  front  fence,  and  if  cattle  come  upon 
any  one's  premises  he  can  take  possession  of  them  and 
hold  them  for  the  payment  of  damages.  This  ought 
to  be  the  law  in  every  state. 

We  are  so  accustomed  to  see  fences  everywhere  that 
the  suggestion  of  their  disuse  is  very  unwelcome  to 


142  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

many,  who  yet  are  quite  ready  for  anything  which  will 
improve  their  residences.  They  have  become  so  used 
to  their  barricaded  enclosures  that  they  feel  at  first  a 
sense  of  vacancy  and  loss  without  them.  But  it  only 
needs  the  actual  experiment  for  a  few  days  or  weeks  to 
convince  almost  any  one  of  the  improvement  thus  made. 
And  we  have  now  some  fine  examples  on  a  large  scale 
of  the  advantage  resulting  from  the  absence  of  fences, 
especially  from  the  fronts  of  dwellings.  Individual 
instances  are  to  be  found  in  very  many  of  our  towns 
and  villages,  all  over  the  country,  as  far  West  even  as 
Colorado.  The  village  of  South  Manchester,  Conn., 
the  seat  of  the  silk-mills  of  the  Brothers  Cheney,  is  a 
notable  illustration  of  what  may  be  done  by  not  doing. 
This  village  covers  seven  hundred  and  fifty  acres  of 
land,  and  has  a  hundred  and  fifty  houses ;  but  not  a 
wall  or  fence  of  any  kind  is  to  be  seen  between  these 
houses  and  the  various  roads  along  which  they  stand. 
Each  house  has  its  lawn  in  front,  dotted  with  flowers 
and  shrubs.  An  unmistakable  look  of  comfort,  neat- 
ness, and  taste  pervades  the  village,  and  every  visitor  is 
charmed  by  its  appearance.  Another  illustration  of 
the  effect  of  open  grounds  may  be  seen  at  Williams- 
town,  Mass.,  where  the  fences  along  the  principal 
street  have  been  taken  down  one  by  one  until,  finally, 
under  an  impulse  of  general  improvement  the  present 
year,  aided  by  the  pecuniary  generosity  and  personal 
influence  of  Mr.  Cyrus  W.  Field,  nearly  all  have  been 
removed,  and  the  entire  street,  a  mile  in  length,  pre- 


FENCES  AND  HEDGES. 

sents  the  appearance  of  a  park.  There  is  the  unmis- 
takable look  of  good  neighborhood  and  kindly  feeling 
thrown  over  the  whole  place.  The  adjoining  proprie- 
tors have  also,  by  this  means,  practically  enlarged  their 
premises.  The  eye  of  each  one,  as  he  looks  out  from 
his  windows,  sweeps  along  a  ground  surface  far  beyond 
what  he  owns,  lie  has,  it  may  be,  a  legal  title  to  a 
plot  only  fifty  or  a  hundred  feet  in  width.  Yet  he 
seems  to  be  living  on  one  of  many  times  that  extent. 
To  look  upon,  his  neighbor's  trees  and  turf  and  flowers 
are  as  much  his  own  as  they  are  his  neighbor's.  So  all 
gain  by  this  practical  enlargement  of  their  possessions. 
They  gain,  also,  almost  of  necessity,  some  enlargement 
of  heart  and  feeling,  a  closer  and  kinder  fellowship,  a 
deepening  interest  in  each  other. 

Why  should  not  this,  or  something  approximating 
this,  be  realized  generally  in  the  villages  of  our  land  ? 
Why  should  they  not  thus  seem  to  be,  what  they  ought 
to  be,  communities — places  of  a  common  life,  of  com- 
mon as  well  as  individual  feelings  and  tastes,  where 
all  flow  together  as  having  common  interests,  hopes, 
and  joys,  a  real  partnership  in  each  other? 

Hedges  are  of  three  kinds — those  designed  for  screens, 
those  designed  to  take  the  place  of  fences,  and  those  for 
decorative  purposes.  As  yet  they  have  come  into  use 
but  to  a  moderate  extent  in  this  country.  In  England 
they  are  in  very  general  use  for  the  separation  of  fields, 
and  they  form  a  conspicuous  object  in  the  landscape,  so 


144  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

that  English  hedges  have  become  quite  famous.  With 
us  hedges  have  been  used  thus  far  mainly  on  small 
grounds,  like  those  of  our  cities  and  their  suburbs, 
rather  than  in  the  open  country  and  upon  large  farms. 
There  are  two  classes  of  plants  suitable  for  hedges : 
the  thorny  shrubs  like  the  buckthorn,  and  the  Osage 
orange,  or  maclura,  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other 
the  evergreens,  like  the  arbor  vitae.  the  Norway  spruce, 
and  the  hemlock.  The  former  have  an  advantage, 
where  a  barrier  is  needed  which  will  effectually  turn 
cattle,  in  the  fact  that  they  have  thorns  against  which 
cattle  are  unwilling  to  push,  and  because  they  occupy 
little  space.  The  evergreens,  on  the  other  hand,  have 
greatly  the  advantage  of  beauty,  and  for  all  places 
where  they  are  needed  simply  as  division  boundaries, 
or  for  screens,  or  for  ornament,  are  much  to  be  pre- 
ferred. In  the  northern  portions  of  our  country  espe- 
cially, where  for  six  months  of  the  year  the  trees  are 
leafless,  and  the  ground  is  brown  or  covered  with  snow, 
there  is  ample  reason  for  choosing  evergreen  hedges 
wherever  they  can  be  used.  Near  a  house,  particularly, 
such  hedges  should  be  chosen,  for  the  ordinary  thorn 
hedges  during  the  half-year  when  they  are  leafless  are 
by  no  means  pleasant  objects  to  look  at.  For  screens, 
also,  none  but  evergreens  are  of  any  account,  while 
these  are  all  that  can  be  desired.  Whether  to  shut  off 
the  cold  winds  from  the  house  or  from  the  cattle  in  the 
barn  or  barn-yard,  or  to  hide  from  sight  some  undesir- 
able objects,  stables  or  other  outbuildings,  nothing  bet- 


FENCES  AND   HEDGES.  145 

ter  than  the  Norway  spruce  or  the  hemlock  could  be 
wished  for.  As  a  protection  for  a  garden,  excluding 
the  cold  winds  of  early  springtime,  as  well  as  intru- 
sive poultry  and  other  animals  at  all  times,  evergreen 
hedges  are  most  desirable,  while  they  also  aid  mate- 
rially to  make  a  garden  an  object  of  beauty.  For 
tall  hedges  or  screens  the  Norway  spruce  and  the 
hemlock  are  equally  well  adapted.  For  hedges  that 
are  to  be  kept  low  the  hemlock  is  preferable,  being 
a  plant  of  finer  and  more  delicate  foliage,  and  bear- 
ing the  shears  well,  while  in  many  parts  of  the  coun- 
try it  is  so  abundant  that  cheapness  will  be  in  its 
favor. 

But,  whatever  plant  is  adopted,  it  needs  to  be  borne 
in  mind  that  in  securing  a  hedge  one  must  proceed  very 
much  as  in  building  a  house.  The  first  thing  is  to  have 
a  good  foundation.  In  other  words,  the  beauty  and  the 
utility  of  a  hedge  consist  in  a  good  thick  growth  close 
to  the  ground.  Consequently  the  upward  tendency  of 
the  plants  must  be  repressed  by  topping  them  until  bot- 
tom shoots  are  started  in  sufficient  abundance.  It  will 
require  four  or  five  years  to  grow  a  hedge  in  this  way 
to  the  height  of  four  feet ;  but  when  this  is  once  done, 
the  work  remains,  and  you  have  something  of  abiding 
beauty  and  usefulness. 

In  growing  such  a  hedge  it  is  also  necessary,  certain- 
ly very  desirable,  to  prepare  the  ground  by  deep  spad- 
ing or  ploughing,  and  by  the  proper  intermixture  with 
the  soil  of  some  fertilizing  material.  Let  the  plants 


146  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

then  be  set  therein  in  two  rows  —  the  rows  themselves 
six  inches  apart  and  the  plants  twelve  inches  asunder 
in  the  rows — the  plants  of  the  different  rows  not  oppo- 
site each  other,  but  alternate,  thus : 


This  will  make  a  hedge  the  more  impervious  to  small 
animals  at  the  bottom,  though  we  have  grown  hemlock 
hedges  in  single  rows,  the  plants  a  foot  apart,  which 
would  effectually  shut  out  poultry.  For  evergreen 
hedges  plants  should  be  chosen  not  more  than  eighteen 
inches  or  two  feet  in  height,  and  such,  if  possible,  as 
have  well  -  developed  lower  branches.  These,  when 
planted,  should  be  cut  down  to  a  uniform  height  of 
one  foot.  The  next  year  one  half  of  the  first  year's 
growth  should  be  cut  off.  And  so  from  year  to  year 
the  top  should  be  pruned  or  shortened  in,  and  the 
hedge  thus  built  up  in  proper  form  and  with  the  de- 
sired thickness  or  density.  If  the  pruning  is  not  con- 
tinued until  the  proper  growth  at  the  bottom  is  secured, 
no  subsequent  care  will  remedy  the  defect.  But  with 
this  precaution,  in  a  few  years  one  may  surround  him- 
self with  a  wall  of  living  green  that  will  rob  the  win- 
ter of  half  its  chill  and  irksomeness,  and  furnish  a  pleas- 
ant object  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon  at  all  times. 


LAWNS.  147 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

LAWNS. 

"Nothing  is  more  pleasant  to  the  eye  than  green  grass  kept  finely 
shorn. " — BACON. 

"The  peculiar  characters  of  the  grass,  which  adapt  it  especially  for  the 
service  of  man,  are  its  apparent  humility  and  cheerfulness.  Its  humility, 
in  that  it  seems  created  only  for  lowest  service — appointed  to  be  trodden 
on  and  fed  upon.  Its  cheerfulness,  in  that  it  seems  to  exult  under  all 
kinds  of  violence  and  suffering.  You  roll  it,  and  it  is  stronger  the  next 
day ;  you  mow  it,  and  it  multiplies  its  shoots  as  if  it  were  grateful;  you 
tread  upon  it,  and  it  only  sends  up  richer  perfume." — RUSKIN. 

THE  two  things  that  will  do  most  to  make  a  piece  of 
ground  attractive  and  pleasant  to  look  upon  are  trees 
and  grass.  And  this  is  true  whether  the  ground  be 
large  or  small  in  extent ;  whether  it  be  a  house  lot  on 
the  edge  of  some  city,  or  a  gentleman's  park  of  thou- 
sands of  acres.  These,  then,  are  the  most  desirable  out- 
ward adornments  of  our  village  homes,  as  they  are  the 
cheapest.  Yet  how  slow  we  have  been  in  our  country 
to  apprehend  this  fact !  We  have  filled  our  grounds 
with  trellises  and  Chinese  pagodas,  and  various  conceits 
of  carpentry,  with  mounds  and  hillocks  covered  with 
flowers  and  flowering  shrubs,  with  plaster  Floras  and 
Dianas,  and  with  cast-iron  deer  and  dogs,  until  we  have 
often  been  buried  in  a  wilderness  of  incongruous  and 


148  VILLAGES   AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

misplaced  decorations.  It  is  only  within  a  short  time 
that  we  have  come  to  understand  what  Lord  Bacon 
saw  nigh  three  hundred  years  ago  —  that  Nature  has 
provided  for  us  in  the  very  grass  of  the  field  something 
more  beautiful  than  anything  which  we  can  put  in  its 
place.  It  would  seem  as  though  our  farmers  would 
have  been  so  struck  with  the  beauty  of  their  hay-fields 
when  newly  shorn  by  the  scythe  that  they  would  have 
made  the  attempt  to  secure  something  of  the  same  ef- 
fect, but  more  permanently,  in  the  immediate  vicinity 
of  their  dwellings ;  but  this  they  seldom  have  done. 
The  value  of  grass  with  them  has  been  simply  in  its 
yield  of  hay  and  pasturage  for  the  cattle.  That  there 
was  also  a  pleasure  in  it  for  themselves,  a  gratification 
of  the  love  of  the  beautiful  —  something,  likewise,  to 
nourish  pleasant  thoughts  and  tasteful  feelings  in  their 
children — does  not  seem  to  have  often  come  into  their 
minds.  And  so  our  farm-house  surroundings  have  been 
greatly  lacking  in  a  beauty  and  adornment  easily  with- 
in reach.  On  one  side  there  has  been,  perhaps,  a  plot 
fenced  off  for  a  garden,  which  has  only  been  an  apology 
for  a  garden,  after  all,  so  neglected  has  it  been,  the 
rampant  weeds  choking  the  proper  growths  of  the 
place.  In  front  there  has  been  what  has  borne  the 
name  of  a  "  door-yard,"  it  may  be,  into  which  the  door 
is  never  opened  except  on  the  rare  occasions  of  a  fu- 
neral or  a  wedding,  the  usual  entrance  to  the  house 
and  exit  from  it  being  by  a  side  or  rear  door,  and  prob- 
ably through  a  varying  mass  of  plantains  and  mallows 


LAWNS.  149 

near  the  road,  and  the  chips  and  dirt  of  the  wood-pile 
farther  back ;  well  if  carts  and  other  agricultural  imple- 
ments have  not  also  obstructed  the  pathway  leading  to 
the  house. 

How  easily  might  all  this  be  changed  !  Sweep  away 
those  picket  fences,  which  in  most  cases  are  no  protec- 
tion asrainst  the  intrusion  of  cattle,  inasmuch  as  the 

O  ' 

gates  are  usually  left  open.  Remove  the  garden  to 
some  ampler  spot  on  the  farm,  where,  planting  the  seeds 
of  his  vegetables  in  long  rows  and  in  the  open  field, 
the  farmer  can  cultivate  them  easily  with  his  plough, 
as  he  does  his  field  crops.  Put  the  wood-pile,  with  its 
attendant  rubbish,  in  some  place  out  of  constant  sight, 
and  the  wood,  when  cut,  snugly  in  the  wood -house. 
Let  carts  and  wagons,  ploughs  and  harrows,  be  sheltered 
in  their  proper  store-room.  Then  let  the  ground  thus 
made  vacant  be  laid  down  to  grass,  and  planted  appro- 
priately with  trees  singly  and  in  clumps,  with  here  and 
there  a  bed  reserved  in  the  midst  of  the  turf  for  a  few 
choice  flowers,  massed  so  as  to  give  the  full  effect  of 
their  bright  colors;  and  the  farmer  or  villager  has 
spread  before  him  "  from  morn  to  noon,  from  noon  to 
dewy  eve,"  a  picture  of  ever  changing  yet  abiding 
beauty.  It  will  be  something  to  satisfy  him.  He  will 
delight  in  it  more  and  more  the  longer  he  looks  upon 
it.  It  is  really  wonderful  what  effects  may  be  had  in 
connection  with  a  bit  of  grass  and  a  few  trees.  As  the 
light  changes  every  hour,  and  the  tone  of  the  atmos- 
phere, so  a  lawn  takes  on  a  new  look  from  hour  to 


150  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

hour ;  and  then,  as  the  shadows  of  the  clouds  pass  over 
it,  it  offers  perpetually  new  phases  and  combinations  of 
light  and  shade,  so  that  so  simple  and  seemingly  fixed 
a  thing  as  a  piece  of  grass  becomes  a  source  of  infinite- 
ly varied  and  surprising  pleasure. 

But  not  every  piece  of  grass  is  a  lawn.  It  must  be 
green,  velvety  turf — not  rank  stalks  of  grass  showing 
the  bare  earth  between,  as  is  so  often  the  case.  The 
latter  will  do  for  a  mowing-field,  perhaps,  but  not  for  a 
lawn.  For  this,  we  want  a  turf  short  and  thick  as  the 
pile  of  an  Axminster  carpet ;  and  we  want  a  turf  that 
will  keep  its  emerald  greenness  all  through  the  year, 
except  in  the  frosty  months,  when,  of  course,  we  cannot 
expect  it.  Every  one  knows  that  such  lawns  are  not 
common  among  us ;  and  some  who  have  endeavored  to 
secure  such  have  declared,  after  making  much  effort  to 
obtain  them,  that  the  thing  is  impossible.  Nor  is  it 
easy  to  have  in  this  country  lawns  like  those  which  are 
so  common  in  England,  and  which  are  so  charming. 
Our  hot  summer  suns  are  very  severe  upon  grass,  as 
upon  other  things.  England,  with  its  sky  so  often  over- 
cast with  clouds  and  its  frequent  rains  and  fogs,  enables 
its  people  to  have  the  luxury  of  the  best  lawns  with  lit- 
tle care ;  but  with  us,  while  the  grass  looks  well  in  the 
spring  months,  it  is  apt  to  look  very  brown  and  unin- 
viting in  July  and  August. 

The  first  need,  therefore — the  essential  condition  of 
success — in  our  country,  in  the  production  of  a  fine 
lawn,  is  a  good,  deep,  well -drained  soil.  Grass  needs 


LAWNS.  151 

for  its  full  development  a  deeper  soil  than  do  some 
trees.  Give  them  a  well-pulverized  soil,  and  some  of 
our  grasses  will  send  their  roots  into  it  to  the  depth  of 
between  three  and  four  feet.  Roots  which  have  reach- 
ed such  a  depth  are,  of  course,  little  affected  by  drought. 
No  sun  or  want  of  rain  will  trouble  them,  but  they  will 
go  on  pumping  up  their  supplies  of  nutriment  from 
these  cool,  moist  depths  for  the  sustenance  of  the  plants 
above,  making  them  quite  independent  of  outward  cir- 
cumstances. Whoever,  therefore,  would  have  a  lawn 
which  will  not  fail  him  at  the  very  time  when  its  beau- 
ty would  be  most  desirable  should  see  to  it  that  the 
ground  is  thoroughly  broken  up  by  the  trenching  spade 
or  subsoil  plough  to  a  depth  of  two  feet,  while  at  the 
same  time  he  should  see  that  it  is  sufficiently  under- 
drained  to  carry  off  any  superfluous  moisture.  Let  him 
not  trouble  himself  much  about  grades.  To  get  ground 
exactly  level,  or  smoothed  evenly  into  inclined  planes, 
is  only  a  mechanical  contrivance.  It  may  be  desirable 
for  a  croquet-ground  or  the  rampart  of  a  fort ;  but  the 
flowing  lines  which  nature  gives  to  the  ground,  the 
gentle  swells  and  corresponding  hollows  which  succeed 
each  other,  the  ever- varying  turns  of  the  surface  which 
are  to  be  found  everywhere,  except  in  the  flattest  prai- 
ries of  the  West,  are  far  more  pleasing  to  the  eye  than 
all  the  smoothing  of  art.  They  give  opportunity  for 
that  play  of  light  and  shade  which  is  productive  of  the 
highest  beauty  in  landscape. 

But,  having  secured  a  proper  depth  of  soil,  sufficient- 


152  VILLAGES  AJsD   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

ly  but  not  highly  enriched,  thoroughly  pulverized  and 
cleared  of  all  surface  stones,  so  that  the  scythe  or  the 
lawn-mower  may  do  its  work  without  hindrance  or  ob- 
struction, the  next  thing  needed  is  a  proper  seeding; 
and  here  the  two  things  to  be  chiefly  considered  are  the 
kind  of  seed  and  the  quantity.  No  single  kind  of  grass 
seed  will  make  a  good  lawn,  however  adequate  it  may 
be  for  the  production  of  a  good  hay-field.  What  we 
want  in  a  lawn  is  not  a  tall  rank  growth  above  ground, 
but  a  fine,  thick  growth  upon  the  ground.  What  we 
want  is  not  a  crop  of  hay,  but  a  carpet.  It  is  an  estab- 
lished fact,  also,  that  any  one  sort  of  seed  will  not  cover 
the  ground  with  verdure;  but  that,  after  you  have 
given  the  soil  all  the  seed  of  one  kind  which  it  will 
sprout,  you  may  sow  another  kind  which  will  take  root 
in  the  vacant  spaces  that  are  left ;  and  yet  another  kind 
of  seed  will  occupy  the  places  which  still  remain.  Only 
by  a  variety  of  seeds,  therefore,  can  we  cover  the  ground 
with  that  thick  mat  of  green  which  we  speak  of,  appro- 
priately, as  a  "  velvet "  lawn.  In  Europe,  as  many  as  a 
dozen  different  kinds  of  seed  are  sometimes  mixed  for 
the  purpose  of  seeding  a  lawn ;  and  great  care  is  taken 
in  adapting  the  kinds  of  seed  to  special  soils  and  situ- 
ations. In  this  country  the  grasses  which  have  proved 
most  satisfactory  for  lawns  are  the  common  red-top,  or 
bent  grass,  the  white  clover,  and  the  Kentucky  blue  or 
June  grass.  To  these  is  sometimes  added  the  sweet 
vernal  grass.  These  grasses  are  mixed  in  different  pro- 
portions by  different  cultivators.  A  mixture  frequent- 


LAWNS.  153 

ly  used  consists  of  Khode  Island  bent — a  variety  of  red- 
top — eight  quarts ;  creeping  bent,  as  it  is  called,  three 
quarts;  red-top,  ten  quarts;  Kentucky  blue  grass,  ten 
quarts;  and  white  clover,  one  quart.  Some  use  for 
lawns  a  mixture  of  three  fourths  red-top  and  one  fourth 
white  clover. 

But  whatever  seed  is  used,  let  not  the  quantity  be 
stinted.  From  three  to  five  bushels  should  be  used  to 
the  acre,  according  to  the  richness  of  the  soil ;  and  in 
the  same  proportion  for  a  larger  or  smaller  extent  of 
ground. 

Having  sown  the  seed,  of  proper  kind  and  in  proper 
quantity,  and  rolled  it  in  well,  the  beauty  and  continu- 
ance of  the  lawn  will  be  secured  by  frequent  mowing 
and  occasional  rolling.  If  the  lawn  is  not  cut  frequent- 
ly, it  will  soon  become  like  any  hay-field,  and  certainly 
its  principal  beauty  will  be  lost.  About  once  in  twelve 
days  or  a  fortnight  the  scythe  or  the  lawn-mower  should 
go  over  the  ground,  and  the  grass  cut  should  be  left 
upon  the  field  to  act  as  a  mulch  to  the  roots  of  the 
grass,  to  protect  them  from  our  hot  suns ;  and,  finally, 
by  its  decay,  to  keep  the  ground  properly  enriched. 
Treated  in  this  way,  with  perhaps  an  occasional  top- 
dressing  of  ashes,  a  lawn  will  last  a  lifetime,  and  longer. 
The  durability  of  such  a  lawn  makes  the  labor  needed 
at  the  outset  for  its  establishment  a  cheap  expenditure, 
whether  of  care  or  money. 

The  trouble  and  expense  of  frequent  cutting  may 
seem  an  objection  to  the  establishment  of  a  lawn  on  a 

L 


154  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

large  scale,  except  to  people  of  considerable  wealth. 
The  farmer  may  also  think  that  the  cutting  and  leaving 
the  grass  involves  the  loss  of  some  hay.  But  it  is  not 
necessary,  in  order  to  have  a  lawn,  that  a  large  piece  of 
ground  should  be  devoted  to  it.  Only  let  there  be  a 
proper  depth  of  soil  and  sufficient  space  kept  clear  of 
trees  or  shrubs  to  give  some  effect  of  breadth — enough 
to  give  room  for  a  solid  mass  of  sunshine  to  fall  some- 
where on  the  ground — and  even  a  city  door-yard  may 
become  a  lawn.  But  in  our  villages  and  on  our  farms 
we  may  make  beauty  and  practical  economy  go  hand  in 
hand  by  carefully  and  frequently  mowing  a  limited  por- 
tion of  ground  near  one's  dwelling ;  while  the  rest,  sepa- 
rated, perhaps,  by  an  invisible  wire  fence,  may  be  past- 
ured by  a  few  sheep,  with  some  handsome  Jersey  cows 
for  companions.  These  creatures  are  among  the  best 
of  lawn-mowers,  after  all;  and  while  they  keep  the 
grass  short  and  the  ground  in  good  heart,  they  are  also 
storing  up  wool  and  butter  for  their  owner.  At  the 
same  time,  they  add  beauty  and  life  to  the  lawn  itself, 
and  make  it  additionally  attractive ;  they  add  the  only 
thing  possibly  lacking  to  its  completeness  and  our  per- 
fect satisfaction  with  it. 


WATER.  155 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WATEK. 

"  For  fountains,  they  are  a  great  beauty  and  refreshment ;  but  pools 
mar  all,  and  make  the  garden  unwholesome,  and  full  of  flies  and  frogs. 
Fountains  I  intend  to  be  of  two  natures  —  the  one  that  sprinkleth  or 
spouteth  water  ;  the  other  a  fair  receipt  of  water,  of  some  thirty  or  forty 
foot  square,  but  without  fish,  or  slime,  or  mud.  For  the  first,  the  orna- 
ments of  images,  gilt  or  of  marble,  which  are  in  use,  do  well ;  but  the 
main  matter  is  so  to  convey  the  water,  as  it  never  stays,  either  in  the 
bowls  or  in  the  cistern." — BACON. 

SAYS  John  Ruskin,  to  whom  the  English  public  are 
indebted  more  than  to  any  other  writer,  not  to  say  than 
to  all  others,  for  the  stimulus  that  has  been  given  to  the 
observation  and  the  love  of  nature,  "  Of  all  inorganic 
substances,  acting  in  their  own  proper  nature  and  with- 
out assistance  or  combination,  water  is  the  most  won- 
derful. If  we  think  of  it  as  the  source  of  all  the 
changefulness  and  beauty  which  we  have  seen  in  the 
clouds ;  then  as  the  instrument  by  which  the  earth  we 
have  contemplated  was  modelled  into  symmetry,  and 
its  crags  chiselled  into  grace ;  then  as,  in  the  form  of 
snow,  it  robes  the  mountains  it  has  made  with  that 
transcendent  light  which  we  could  not  have  conceived 
if  we  had  not  seen ;  then  as  it  exists  in  the  foam  of  the 
torrent — in  the  iris  which  spans  it,  in  the  morning  mist 


156  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

which  rises  from  it,  in  the  deep  crystalline  pools  which 
mirror  its  hanging  shore,  in  the  broad  lake  and  glanc- 
ing river;  finally,  in  that  which  is  to  all  human  minds 
the  best  emblem  of  unwearied,  unconquerable  power — 
the  wild,  various,  fantastic,  tameless  unity  of  the  sea ; 
what  shall  we  compare  to  this  mighty,  this  universal 
element  for  glory  and  for  beauty,  or  how  shall  we 
follow  its  eternal  changefulness  of  feeling?  It  is  like 
trying  to  paint  a  soul." 

A  substance  of  such  glory  and  beauty  must  have,  of 
course,  large  and  important  relations  to  life  in  the  open 
country,  where  streams  and  clouds  abound — relations 
which  it  cannot  have  in  the  pent-up  town  or  city.  The 
aesthetic  value  of  water  is  something  which  belongs 
peculiarly  to  country  life.  It  is  only  as  the  city 
snatches  some  bit  of  soil  from  the  encroachments  of 
the  constantly  extending  lines  of  streets  and  buildings, 
and  thus  imports,  so  to  speak,  a  piece  of  the  country 
within  its  precincts,  and  establishes  some  "  Central 
Park,"  where  the  water  can  find  room  to  shoot  into  the 
air  as  a  fountain  or  expand  into  a  miniature  lake,  that 
it  takes  on  anything  of  beauty  or  appeals  to  the  finer 
senses.  Your  Croton  Aqueduct  is  only  a  mechanical 
contrivance  for  securing  what  will  quench  the  thirst 
of  men  and  beasts,  or  wash  the  city  streets,  or  preserve 
the  city  itself  from  destructive  conflagrations.  It  may 
be  a  triumph  of  engineering  and  very  admirable  as  a 
piece  of  masonry.  Yet  hardly  anything  makes  less 
appeal  to  the  aesthetic  faculty  than  such  a  contrivance. 


WATER.  157 

But  go  back  into  the  open  country,  whence  the  water 
comes  to  suffer  imprisonment  for  the  vulgar  uses  of  the 
town,  and  you  come  upon  it  at  once  in  a  new  character. 
The  brook  or  river  goes  winding  at  its  own  will,  in 
sweeping  curves  of  grace  and  beauty,  through  the 
meadows,  brightening  all  the  adjacent  fields  with  a 
luxuriant  verdure,  or  babbling  with  sweet  music  over 
the  pebbly  bottoms,  or  leaping  down  the  hill-sides  in 
wild  and  foaming  cascades  that  are  a  joy  to  the  eye 
and  ear  at  once.  The  cattle  take  on  an  added  look  of 
beauty  as  they  stoop  to  drink  by  the  brook-side,  such  as 
they  never  could  have  at  a  watering-trough  in  the  barn- 
yard ;  and  the  birds  never  seern  so  charming  as  when 
flitting  along  some  stream,  or  mingling  their  songs  from 
the  branches  above  with  the  liquid  song  of  the  brook 
below.  And  then,  is  water  ever  quite  so  refreshing 
and  so  welcome  to  the  thirsty  lips  as  when  it  is  caught 
fresh  from  some  spring  that  bursts  from  the  turfy  bank 
or  from  some  cleft  in  the  rock  near  the  old  farm-house  ? 
The  children  hasten  to  catch  it  in  their  hands,  making 
cups  of  them,  or,  perchance,  of  some  grape  leaf,  rather 
than  drink  from  the  daintiest  silver  that  adorns  the 
table. 

But  while  this  element,  water,  is  so  abundant,  cover- 
ing three  fourths  of  the  earth's  surface,  and  the  whole 
soil  full  of  it,  so  that  it  is  ready  to  shoot  forth  from  in- 
numerable springs,  and  while  it  is  in  itself  so  beautiful 
and  capable  of  ministering  to  our  love  of  beauty  in  so 
many  ways,  it  is  remarkable  that  we  derive  so  little 


158  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

benefit  from  it,  compared  with  what  we  might,  either 
in  the  way  of  use  or  pleasure.  It  is  the  more  remark- 
able that  this  should  be  the  case  in  the  open  country — 
the  very  home  of  the  brooks  and  springs.  Taking  it 
on  the  side  of  the  most  practical  utility,  how  many  of 
the  dwellers  in  the  country  live  without  any  adequate 
supply  of  water  for  even  the  necessary  uses  of  life. 
They  will  content  themselves  often  with  a  well,  and 
that  perhaps  inconveniently  located,  and  with  such  in- 
adequate and  clumsy  appliances  for  raising  the  water 
to  the  surface  that  to  "  bring  a  pail  of  water"  is  con- 
sidered one  of  the  hardest  tasks  of  domestic  life.  And 
so  the  pail  of  water  is  drawn  only  when  absolutely 
necessary ;  and  a  drink  of  fresh  water,  instead  of  being 
accessible  as  the  air,  is  oftentimes  one  of  the  most  dif- 
ficult things  to  procure.  For  a  large  portion  of  the 
time  the  inmates  of  the  dwelling  must,  if  they  drink 
at  all,  accept  a  stale  draught  tinctured  with  the  rust  of 
the  tin  pail  or  the  white-lead  of  the  wooden  one.  And 
then  the  poor  cattle,  in  the  long  season  when  they  are 
not  in  pasture,  must  be  left  without  any  supply  of 
their  want,  except  as  they  are  driven,  once  a  day, 
perhaps,  through  the  snows  and  storms  of  winter,  to 
some  distant  brook,  where  only  with  difficulty,  and 
with  manifest  danger  to  their  limbs,  they  can  manage 
to  quench  their  thirst  through  some  hole  in  the  ice. 
What  a  shame  and  cruelty  is  this  in  a  country  such  as 
ours,  which,  like  the  promised  land  held  out  as  an  at- 
traction to  the  Israelites  of  old,  is  "  a  land  of  brooks 


WATER.  159 

of  water,  of  fountains,  and  depths  that  spring  out  of 
valleys  and  hills." 

Then,  also,  for  the  demands  of  cleanliness  and  health, 
how  inadequate  is  the  provision  often  made!  In  how 
many  of  our  country  houses  is  there  such  a  thing  as  a 
bath-room,  or  water  enough,  easily  accessible,  to  supply 
it  if  there  were  one?  Perhaps  there  is  a  small  cistern 
receiving  the  water  from  the  house- roof,  but,  through 
lack  of  proper  protection  against  the  intrusion  of  toads 
and  other  animals,  or  the  infiltration  of  noxious  matters, 
the  water  is  rendered  so  repulsive  that  it  is  an  unpleas- 
ant thing  to  bring  it  near  the  face.  Or  the  only  store- 
house for  water  may  be — how  often  it  is  so ! — a  barrel 
at  the  corner  of  the  house,  with  perhaps  a  board  slant- 
ing down  under  the  projecting  eaves  of  a  portion  of  the 
roof  to  serve  as  a  conductor  of  the  precious  rain  into 
this  generous  receptacle ;  and  the  scanty  supply  by  this 
means  secured  suggests  the  necessity  of  washing  hands 
and  face  as  seldom  as  possible,  while  the  ablution  of 
the  whole  body  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  and  so  the  less 
said  about  personal  cleanliness  the  better. 

Happily  this  is  not  a  correct  picture  of  all  our  coun- 
try homes.  But  it  represents  so  many  of  them,  ap- 
proximately, at  least,  as  to  warrant  the  conclusion  that 
there  ought  to  be  a  far  better  supply  of  water  for  our 
villages  than  there  now  is.  For  the  common  uses  of 
life,  for  the  common  needs  of  a  household,  there  is  no 
one  thing  more  desirable  than  an  abundant  supply  of 
this  element.  To  have  it  in  unlimited  amount,  to  have 


160  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

it  convenient  and  easy  of  access — this  is  the  oil  which 
makes  all  the  wheels  of  domestic  life  run  smoothly. 
If,  as  has  been  said  so  often,  cleanliness  is  next  to  godli- 
ness, then  water  is  the  first  physical  need  of  existence ; 
and  there  are  few  of  our  farms  and  country  homes 
which  might  not  be  abundantly  supplied  from  springs 
near  at  hand,  or,  by  the  associated  enterprise  of  the  vil- 
lage, from  copious  streams  not  far  away.  Everywhere, 
almost,  in  our  country,  the  water  is  waiting  to  be  used, 
waiting  to  bring  us  its  blessings  of  health  and  manifold 
comfort.  The  valleys  and  hills  are  full  of  springs  ready 
to  pour  their  refreshing  and  healthful  streams  through 
our  dwellings.  It  requires  a  comparatively  small  out- 
lay, in  most  cases,  certainly,  to  secure  an  ample  supply 
of  this  most  necessary  element.  The  saving  of  steps 
for  the  busy  and  often  overburdened  housekeeper,  the 
diminished  lifting  and  carrying,  the  great  amount  of 
time  as  well  as  labor  saved  in  accomplishing  the  work 
of  the  household,  these,  in  a  single  year,  and  frequently 
sooner  than  that,  would  more  than  pay  for  all  the  cost 
involved  in  securing  for  our  country  dwellings  an 
abundant  supply  of  water.  And  then  its  importance 
in  promoting  health  and  the  increased  comfort  and 
pleasure  of  living  thereby  insured  to  all  the  inmates 
of  the  house,  who  shall  estimate  this,  who  measure  the 
value  of  this  by  any  figures  of  pecuniary  cost  ?  There 
is  no  virtue  in  drudgery  —  though  not  unfrequently 
men  and  women  live  as  though  there  were — and  wher- 
ever we  can  save  labor  or  lighten  it,  it  is  not  only  our 


WATER.  161 

privilege,  but  our  duty  to  do  so.  The  tone  of  life  is 
thereby  elevated ;  opportunity,  at  least,  is  given  for  the 
higher  life  to  assert  itself. 

We  have  spoken  thus  far  of  water  mainly  in  refer- 
ence to  the  utilities  of  life.  But  a  proper  consideration 
of  country  living  and  what  is  needed  to  make  our  vil- 
lage life  more  attractive  and  satisfying  requires  some- 
thing to  be  said  of  the  aesthetic  qualities  of  water. 
There  is  no  perfect  landscape  where  the  eye  cannot, 
somewhere  in  the  sweep  of  its  vision,  rest  upon  water. 
Whatever  else  may  be  had,  be  it  the  most  beautiful 
contour  of  hill  and  vale,  be  it  lofty  crag  or  lawn-like 
meadow,  be  it  amplest  sweep  of  forest  and  field,  or 
densest  and  richest  verdure,  there  is  a  want  felt  so  long 
as  the  gleam  of  water  is  not  seen.  Nor  is  the  needed 
effect  measured  by  mere  quantity.  A  little  stream, 
across  which  you  can  almost  leap,  is  worth  as  much 
sometimes  as  a  whole  ocean.  How  such  a  stream, 
shooting  its  silver  thread  through  one  of  our  green 
meadows,  will  often  light  up  the  whole  landscape ! 
Who  does  not  feel  the  beauty  of  water  at  times  ?  In  the 
tumbling  cascade  or  in  the  expanse  of  a  little  lake,  what 
child  even  does  not  find  something  that  touches  a  fount 
of  feeling  within  and  calls  out  his  admiration  ?  What 
dullest  son  of  toil  is  not  stirred  by  such  a  sight,  and 
made  sensible  of  something  within  him  that  is  above 
the  drudgery  of  toil  ?  The  jet  of  water,  throwing  up 
its  silver  drops  and  its  feathery  spray  from  some  door- 
yard  fountain,  what  passer-by  does  not  have  his  steps 


102  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE    LIFE. 

arrested  and  his  soul  refreshed  by  the  sight  ?  It  has  a 
power  of  universal  appeal.  Old  and  young,  the  rudest 
and  the  most  cultured,  are  alike,  though  not,  perhaps, 
equally,  touched  by  it.  Why  should  we  not  have  these 
sights  and  their  resulting  pleasures  oftener  than  we  do  ? 
There  is  hardly  a  village,  we  may  say  hardly  a  farm  or 
cottage-yard,  which  might  not  have  its  plashing  fountain 
to  gladden  the  sight.  And  nearly  every  village  might 
easily  secure  for  its  adornment  some  stretch  of  water, 
with  the  accompaniment  of  one  or  more  fountains, 
around  which  the  villagers  might  gather  at  will,  and 
which  would  be  a  constant  delight  to  all.  These 
pleasures  need  not  be  costly.  There  is  no  necessity  01 
great  outlay  for  cast-iron  basins  and  bronze  dolphins 
and  naiads.  These  may  be  left  for  those  of  abundant 
wealth  and  scanty  taste.  Their  absence  is  commonly 
more  desirable  than  their  presence.  If  the  villager 
can  command  though  but  a  small  stream  from  some 
spring,  with  sufficient  head  to  give  a  moderate  degree 
of  pressure,  all  that  is  requisite  is  to  scoop  out  a  shal- 
low basin  of  earth  in  his  door-yard  six  or  eight  feet 
across  and  coat  it  with  hydraulic  cement,  which  any 
one  can  do,  having  first  brought  his  supply -pipe  up 
through  the  bottom  with  a  waste-pipe  leading  out  from 
the  basin,  near  its  margin,  into  a  tank  near  by.  A 
sunken  barrel  filled  with  stones  will  answer  for  this 
purpose.  Now  let  him  procure  a  stop-cock,  and  two 
or  three  different  jets,  which  he  will  find  very  cheap 
in  any  city  or  large  town,  and  he  has  at  command  not 


WATER.  163 

only  a  perpetual  fountain  of  water,  but  a  perpetual 
fountain  of  delight.  It  is  really  wonderful  the  many 
effects  and  the  constant  yet  ever-varying  pleasure  to  be 
derived,  for  old  and  young  alike,  from  such  a  simple 
and  inexpensive  source.  Once  possessed  of  such  a 
source  of  enjoyment,  no  one  would  be  willing  to  part 
with  it  for  many  times  its  cost.  And  then  there  are 
many  little  streams  running  through  our  meadows  or 
down  our  hill-sides  which  we  might,  with  only  a  little 
labor,  lead  into  new  channels,  and  so  cause  them  to  flow 
where  the  sight  of  them  would  be  pleasantest,  or  across 
which  even  the  children  might  throw  dams  sufficient  to 
make  them  expand  into  little  lakes  that  might  be  made 
the  home  of  fish  and  fowl,  and  a  place  for  many  a 
pleasure  and  sport. 

These  are  but  hints  and  suggestions,  when  very 
much  more  might  be  said.  But  these  are  enough  to 
indicate  the  great  addition  to  the  comfort  and  pleasure 
of  life  in  the  country  which  might  be  made  by  the  ju- 
dicious use  and  management  of  the  simple  element  of 
water.  Our  country  homes,  of  all  places,  ought  to  have 
it  in  abundance.  Its  streams  should  be  ready  to  flow 
at  house  and  barn  and  wherever  else  it  would  be  useful 
or  pleasant.  The  bath-room  should  not  be  only  a  city 
luxury,  but  should  be  deemed  as  necessary  to  the  equip- 
ment of  a  country  house  as  is  the  kitchen.  Health  and 
comfort  demand  it.  The  Mohammedans  are  as  careful 
to  erect  baths  as  they  are  mosques.  Ought  not  Chris- 
tians to  be  as  thoughtful  of  cleanliness  as  they? 


164  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE   LIFE. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

SANITARY   ASPECTS   OF   COUNTRY   LIFE. DRAINAGE. 

"It  is  not  enough  that  we  build  our  houses  on  beautiful  sites,  and 
where  we  have  pure  air  and  pure  water  ;  we  must  also  make  provision 
for  preventing  these  sites  from  becoming  foul,  as  every  unprotected  house- 
site  inevitably  must — by  sheer  force  of  the  accumulated  waste  of  its  occu- 
pants."— GEORGE  E.  WARING,  JR. 

IF  any  advantage  has  been  generally  conceded  to  the 
country  as  compared  with  the  city,  it  has  been  that  of 
its  healthfulness.  The  "  healthy  country ;"  how  stereo- 
typed is  that  expression  !  It  is  on  every  lip.  The  nar- 
row and  close  streets  of  the  city  or  large  town,  the 
densely  compacted  population,  the  filthy  dwellings  in 
great  numbers,  and  the  accumulation  of  many  noxious 
matters  in  streets  and  yards,  have  been  regarded  as  cer- 
tain and  prolific  sources  of  disease.  And  so,  also,  the 
great  cities  of  the  world  have  been  notorious  for  the 
prevalence  in  them,  from  time  to  time,  of  great 
plagues  and  epidemics  of  virulent  character,  while  they 
have  been  the  almost  constant  homes  of  fevers  and 
other  destructive  diseases. 

But  the  difference  between  city  and  country  in  re- 
spect to  healthfulness  is  not  so  great  as  it  was.  A 
change  in  this  regard  has  taken  place  within  the  last 


SANITARY  ASPECTS. -DRAINAGE.  165 

twenty -five,  certainly  within  the  last  fifty,  years.  This 
has  been  occasioned  by  a  better  knowledge  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  physiology  and  hygiene  and  the  diffusion 
of  that  knowledge  among  the  people.  The  laws  of 
health  are  not  only  better  known  than  they  were 
within  the  memory  of  those  living,  but  the  knowledge 
of  those  laws  is  not  confined  to  the  few,  and  they 
chiefly  of  the  medical  profession.  It  has  become,  to 
some  extent,  the  property  of  the  masses.  Popular 
text -books  on  physiology  are  in  our  schools  and  on 
our  tables.  These  are  supplemented  also  by  lectures 
on  the  subject  adapted  to  the  popular  understanding, 
while  newspapers  and  magazines  are  doing  not  a  little 
in  the  same  direction. 

Of  this  increased  knowledge  the  cities  and  towns 
have  reaped  the  benefit  more  than  the  open  country. 
This  might  have  been  expected.  The  former,  having 
been  the  greatest  sufferers  from  the  ravages  of  disease, 
would  naturally  be  the  first  to  consider  the  means  of 
escaping  them,  and  to  apply  the  discoveries  of  science 
for  the  promotion  of  health.  The  very  necessities  of 
the  case,  and  the  greater  promptness  and  energy  of 
action  which  mark  the  people  in  towns,  as  compared 
with  those  in  the  open  country,  would  lead  to  the 
earlier  adoption,  by  the  former,  of  measures  for  the 
improvement  of  their  sanitary  condition.  This  would 
be  stimulated,  also,  and  made  more  effective  by  the 
urgency  of  the  medical  profession,  who  would  be  more 
likely  to  speak  9ut  in  the  city  and  act  vigorously 


166  VILLAGES   AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

in  behalf  of  sanitary  measures  than  in  the  country. 
Their  numbers,  their  facilities  for  combined  action, 
and  their  probably  superior  knowledge  would  lead  to 
this. 

For  these  reasons,  not  to  mention  others,  it  has  re- 
sulted that  very  decided  and  systematic  measures  have 
been  taken,  in  many  cities  and  large  towns,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  lessening  or  removing  the  prevalence  and  pow- 
er of  diseases.  The  earliest  and  most  efficient  move- 
ments for  this  purpose  were  made  in  the  city  of  Lon- 
don, which  brought  to  its  aid  in  this  work  a  commis- 
sion established  by  the  British  Parliament.  The  re- 
sults of  the  investigations  made  by  this  commission 
have  led  to  similar  inquiries  in  other  cities  and  to 
many  discoveries  in  regard  to  certain  diseases,  their 
causes  and  remedies. 

Attention  has  been  specially  called  to  what  are  term- 
ed the  preventable  causes  of  disease.  In  consequence 
of  this,  some  diseases,  which  have  been  among  those 
most  dreaded,  have  lost  much  of  their  terror,  and  are 
now  regarded  as  being  quite  within  our  control.  Ty- 
phoid fever,  for  example,  is  found  to  have  such  an  es- 
tablished connection  with  the  contamination  of  drink- 
ing-water, or  of  the  air,  by  means  of  the  decomposition 
of  organic  substances,  that  it  is  quite  within  our  power 
to  prevent  its  existence.  Indeed,  Dr.  Rush  anticipated 
the  knowledge  of  the  present  day  by  declaring,  nearly 
a  century  ago,  that  he  was  so  well  convinced  that  fe- 
vers are  subject  to  human  control  that  he  looked  for 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— DRAINAGE.  167 

the  time  when  the  law  would  punish  cities  and  vil- 
lages for  permitting  any  sources  of  malignant  or  bil- 
ious fevers  to  exist  within  their  jurisdiction. 

The  effect  of  proper  drainage  and  ventilation  upon 
the  health  of  places  using  these  means  of  preventing 
the  contamination  of  the  water  and  the  atmosphere 
has  been  quite  remarkable.  It  has  reversed  the  relations 
of  city  and  country  to  the  existence  of  fevers.  Where- 
as these  were  formerly  regarded  as  the  special  pest  of 
cities,  they  are  now  most  prevalent  in  the  country.  As 
the  result  of  what  has  been  done  in  cities  for  the  re- 
moval of  known  causes  of  disease,  the  death-rate  of  the 
population  has  been  reduced  in  a  measure  that  is  very 
noticeable.  An  English  writer  shows  that  by  the  sani- 
tary measures  already  adopted,  imperfect  as  they  are, 
the  average  mortality  has  been  reduced  from  five  to 
more  than  thirty  per  cent,  below  what  it  was  previous- 
ly, and  the  reduction  of  the  typhoid-fever  rate  has  been 
from  ten  to  seventy -five  per  cent.  Colonel  Waring, 
one  of  our  best  authorities  on  this  subject,  tells  us  that 
when  the  improvement  of  sewerage  was  actively  under- 
taken in  London,  about  twenty-five  years  ago,  it  was 
found  that  the  death-rate  was  so  much  reduced  in  some 
of  the  worst  quarters  that,  if  the  same  reduction  could 
have  been  made  universal,  the  annual  deaths  would 
have  been  twenty-five  thousand  less  in  London,  and 
one  hundred  and  seventy-seven  thousand  less  in  Eng- 
land and  Wales ;  or,  by  another  view,  that  the  average 


168  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

age  at  death  would  have  been  increased  to  forty-eight, 
instead  of  being,  as  it  then  was,  twenty -nine.  As 
further  evidence  that  the  causes  of  disease  are  largely 
within  human  control,  we  have  facts  like  the  following. 
In  1790  the  death-rate  in  the  British  navy  was  one  in 
forty-two,  and  the  sick  were  two  in  every  five.  In  1813, 
when  measures  had  been  taken  to  secure  to  vessels 
better  conditions  of  health,  the  death-rate  was  one  in  a 
hundred  and  forty-three,  and  the  sick  only  two  in  twen- 
ty-one. Careful  examination  in  Philadelphia  at  one 
time  showed  that  two  fifths  of  all  the  deaths  taking 
place  there  were  from  diseases  arising  from  want  of 
cleanliness.  More  than  seventy-five  per  cent,  of  deaths 
in  New  York,  it  is  stated,  are  among  the  population 
living  in  tenement-houses — which  are  notoriously  the 
abodes  of  filth — and  in  neglect  of  the  ordinary  means 
of  cleanliness.  A  drainage  law  was  passed  in  the  city 
of  New  York  in  1871,  and  under  its  operation  a  section 
of  the  city  east  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  above  Forty-fifth 
street  was  drained.  In  two  years  diseases  of  a  typhoid- 
al  and  malarial  type,  which  had  prevailed  there  for 
more  than  twenty-five  years,  almost  disappeared.  Such 
facts  show  how  healthy  such  a  city  as  New  York  might 
be,  if  all  its  people  were  living  as  those  in  the  better 
portions  of  the  city  live — in  clean  streets  and  clean 
houses. 

All  investigations  show,  and  by  an  overwhelming 
mass  of  proof  from  cases  of  every  description,  that  ty- 
phoid fever  stands  in  close  connection  with  the  amount 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— DRAINAGE.  169 

of  neglected  filth  allowed  to  poison  water  or  air.  The 
question  of  the  prevalence  of  fevers,  and  of  pythogenic 
diseases  generally,  resolves  itself,  therefore,  very  much 
into  the  question  of  the  tolerance  of  filth,  whether  in 
city  or  country.  Dr.  Derby,  who  has  investigated  the 
subject  with  much  care,  says,  "  The  well  are  made  sick, 
and  the  sick  are  made  worse,  for  the  simple  lack  of 
God's  pure  air  and  pure  water."  The  water  and  the 
air  may  be  contaminated  in  various  ways,  and  often  when 
we  least  suspect  it.  There  is  a  general  conviction  that 
water  taken  from  wells  is  wholesome.  Most  persons 
probably  would  prefer  the  water  from  wells  to  that 
taken  from  cisterns  or  from  springs.  That  is,  if  they 
were  to  think  at  all  of  the  purity  of  the  water  and  its 
consequent  healthfulness,  apart  from  the  consideration 
of  pleasantness  to  the  taste,  most  persons  would  prob- 
ably regard  the  water  of  our  wells  as  being  more  free 
from  contaminations  than  that  flowing  from  springs  or 
that  collected  in  cisterns.  But  there  is  no  water  so 
pure  as  that  which  falls  as  rain  upon  our  house-roofs, 
and  is  gathered  thence.  There  is  nothing  to  injure  it, 
except  the  foreign  matter  which  collects  upon  the  roofs 
in  the  intervals  between  the  rainfalls ;  and  that,  in  our 
villages  and  in  the  open  country,  must  be  very  little. 
On  the  other  hand,  many  of  our  springs  may  be  injuri- 
ously affected  by  noxious  matters  in  the  soil  or  upon 
the  surface  near  which  they  flow,  and  our  wells  may 
easily  be  little  better  than  receptacles  of  what  is  most 
threatening  and  harmful  to  us.  A  well  is  not  necessarily 

M 


170  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE   LIFE. 

a  good  thing.  Unless  we  know  that  it  is  in  the  midst 
of  clean  surroundings,  extending  for  a  sufficient  dis- 
tance, and  that  it  is  protected  from  the  intrusion  of 
deleterious  matters,  we  have  no  assurance  but  that  it 
may  be  a  storehouse  of  poison  and  death.  Wells  are  of 
the  nature  of  drains,  collecting  water  which  filters  from 
the  surface  of  the  ground  somewhere.  They  are,  in 
this  respect,  like  springs ;  and  if  the  water  flowing  into 
them  passes  through  decaying  animal  or  vegetable  mat- 
ter, there  is  great  danger  that  it  will  be  rendered  unfit 
for  use  as  drink.  The  earth,  indeed,  possesses  a  certain 
cleansing  property.  Dirty  and  unwholesome  water, 
filtered  through  it,  is  rendered  clear  and  wholesome. 
There  is  abundant  proof  of  this.  But  another  thing  is 
equally  sure.  Earth,  long  exposed  to  deleterious  mat- 
ters, and  having  them  washed  into  it  by  rains,  becomes 
so  saturated  with  them  at  length  that  it  loses  its  purify- 
ing power.  The  noxious  matters  then  pass  directly  into 
the  water  of  the  well  without  being  cleansed.  Now, 
this  is  the  case,  to  a  great  extent,  in  cities,  and  often  in 
the  open  country.  The  wells  are  frequently  situated 
where  a  great  deal  of  noxious  matter  is  deposited  near 
them.  Sinks,  cesspools,  and  privies  are  often  in  close 
proximity  to  them.  In  the  country,  wells  are  often 
placed,  for  the  convenience  of  supplying  water  to  the 
cattle,  near,  if  not  actually  in  the  barn-yard.  And  yet 
people,  instead  of  remembering  that  everywhere  else 
they  expect  liquids  to  settle  down  through  the  soil,  and 
disappear,  act  in  these  cases  as  though  the  earth  were  a 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— DRAINAGE. 

solid  and  impervious  barrier  between  the  filth  on  or 
near  the  surface  and  the  deposit  of  water  below  from 
which  they  draw  their  supplies.  In  London,  in  a  given 
instance,  fever  was  generated  all  along  a  district  where 
milk  was  taken  from  a  dealer  who  was  accustomed  to 
dilute  it  with  water  from  a  particular  well.  On  inves- 
tigation it  was  found  that  this  well  had  some  connection 
with  a  cesspool  not  far  away.  Similar  instances  abound 
in  our  own  country  where  the  proof  has  been  abundant 
and  incontrovertible  that  fatal  diseases  have  been  oc- 
casioned by  the  pollution  of  wells  in  this  way.  The 
fact  has  been  put  beyond  all  question  by  cases  where, 
when  the  cause  of  pollution  has  been  removed,  the  dis- 
ease has  been  checked ;  and  when  the  pollution,  for  some 
reason,  has  been  allowed  to  take  place  again,  the  disease 
has  returned,  and  then  has  been  suppressed  once  more 
by  another  removal  of  the  source  of  pollution.  This  is 
not  a  treatise  on  sanitary  matters,  or  it  would  be  in 
place,  and  extremely  interesting,  to  cite  some  of  the 
cases  recorded  in  our  medical  and  sanitary  journals.  It 
is  enough  to  say  that  too  much  care  cannot  be  taken  to 
insure  that  all  deleterious  substances  are  kept  at  a  proper 
distance  from  wells.  That  distance  will  vary  in  differ- 
ent circumstances,  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  no  such  mat- 
ters should  be  allowed  to  accumulate  or  be  deposited 
upon  the  ground  within  a  hundred  feet  of  a  well. 

It  is  a  quite  common  practice  in  the  country  to  throw 
the  sink  water  from  the  kitchen  door,  or  to  allow  it  to 
flow  from  the  sink-spout  directly  upon  the  surface  of 


172  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

the  ground  near  the  house.  The  result  is  usually  a 
pool  of  greasy,  decaying  matter  in  close  proximity  to 
the  windows  and  doors  of  the  dwelling.  This  is  doubly 
dangerous.  In  the  first  place,  the  gases  generated  from 
the  kitchen  waste  find  easy  access  to  the  house,  especial- 
ly in  the  warm  seasons  of  the  year,  through  the  open 
windows  and  doors ;  and  some  of  the  most  hurtful  gas- 
es do  not  betray  their  presence  by  an  offensive  odor, 
which  might  put  us  on  our  guard  against  them.  To  a 
certain  extent,  foul  substances  emit  a  foul  smell,  and  so 
give  us  warning  of  their  presence ;  but  it  is  not  always 
so.*  The  germs  of  fever  and  meningitis,  and  even  con- 
sumption, give  no  such  warning  of  their  presence  or 
approach.  And  so,  also,  when  these  germs  are  washed 
down  from  the  kitchen-drain  or  sink- spout,  or  from  the 
cesspool  into  the  well,  which  is  likely  to  be  not  very 
distant,  they  may  give  no  perceptible  taint  to  the  water. 
Neither  the  eye  nor  the  nose  may  detect  the  fatal  poi- 
son. The  water  may  be  clear  and  sparkling,  and  even 

*  The  superintendent  of  the  water-works  in  one  of  our  cities,  in  reply 
to  some  inquiries  of  ours  in  regard  to  drainage,  after  giving  some  facts  on 
the  subject,  makes  the  following  statement:  "A  short  time  since,  it  was 
necessary  for  an  examination  to  be  made  in  one  of  our  main  sewers.  I 
entered  it,  and  passed  about  six  hundred  feet,  when  I  perceived  a  fulness 
in  my  face ;  my  forehead  felt  as  though  receiving  blows  from  some  flat 
substance.  I  knew  the  cause  and  at  once  backed  out,  but  none  too  soon, 
as  I  could  scarcely  stand  when  in  the  street  again.  Now,  there  was  no 
odor  except  near  the  entrance ;  but,  you  see,  the  poison  was  very  active. 
I  felt  thankful  at  my  escape,  I  can  assure  you. 

"This  is  a  subject  that  people  must  be  educated  to,  and  must  be  appre- 
ciated before  we  can  say  good-bye  to  typhoid  fever  and  diphtheria." 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— DRAINAGE.  173 

have  an  enviable  reputation  in  its  neighborhood  for 
pleasantness  to  the  taste ;  yet  it  may  be  deadly.  It  is 
only  by  its  effects  that  its  really  poisonous  character  will 
become  known.  And  when  the  drinking  of  such  water 
does  not  generate  fevers  or  other  diseases  at  once,  it 
very  often  induces  a  slow  poisoning  of  the  system,  re- 
vealed by  a  certain  low  tone  of  life,  a  chronic  invalid- 
ism,  a  general  debility  and  incapacity  for  work  of  any 
kind,  and  many  unpleasant  but  perhaps  unnaraable 
feelings  and  ailments — a  sort  of  good-for-nothing  con- 
dition of  the  whole  being,  which  is  ready  to  issue  in 
diseases  of  various  kinds  whenever  the  proper  exposure 
comes  or  the  appropriate  conditions  arise. 

The  evil  effect  of  almost  all  polluted  waters  is  very 
much  lessened  by  heating  them  to  the  boiling-point. 
It  is  owing  to  the  fact,  doubtless,  that  so  much  of  the 
water  which  we  use  for  drinking  purposes  is  thus  heat- 
ed— as  in  the  making  of  tea  and  coffee,  and  in  many 
culinary  processes — that  we  do  not  experience  more 
disastrous  results  than  we  do  from  the  foul  and  effete 
matters  which  too  often  have  access  to  the  sources  of 
water  supply. 

As  an  illustration  of  the  effect  of  heat  upon  the  im- 
purities of  water,  may  be  cited  the  case  of  one  of  the 
prisoners  at  far-famed  Andersonville,  the  dreadful  mor- 
tality at  which  has  been  largely  attributed,  and,  without 
doubt,  justly,  to  the  foul  water  which  the  prisoners  were 
obliged  to  drink.  But  one  of  the  first  prisoners  sent 
there,  and  who  remained  there  until  the  end  of  the  war, 


174  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

caine  from  the  prison  without  having  had  anything  of 
the  so  common  disorder  of  the  bowels.  He  never  drank 
the  water  without  boiling  it.  Being  often  detailed  to 
bury  the  dead,  he  was  enabled  to  gather  roots  and  sticks 
sufficient  to  make  a  fire  that  would  enable  him  to  boil 
what  water  he  needed.  Other  evidence  of  a  like  char- 
acter might  be  adduced. 

Most  persons  have  a  reasonable  or  unreasonable  fear 
of  epidemics,  and  when  these  break  out  are  aroused  to 
take  measures  adapted  to  stay  their  ravages  and  prevent 
their  recurrence.  But  epidemics  are,  at  the  worst,  un- 
frequent,  while  other  diseases  of  fatal  character  are  an 
abiding  presence  with  us ;  and  the  loss  of  life  by  epi- 
demics is  by  no  means  equal  to  that  from  other  causes 
constantly  in  operation.  Even  when  that  most  dreaded 
scourge,  as  we  call  it — cholera — is  rife,  there  are  more 
deaths  from  many  other  diseases,  to  which  we  pay  little 
attention,  than  from  that.  During  the  epidemic  of 
1849-50,  there  were  reported  thirty-one  thousand  five 
hundred  and  six  deaths  from  cholera  in  the  United 
States.  During  the  same  period,  there  were  more  than 
the  same  number  of  deaths  from  other  diseases  of  the 
intestinal  canal,  and  more  from  fevers  alone. 

It  is  the  constant  dangers,  rather  than  the  occasional, 
against  which  we  ought  most  to  guard.  The  cardinal 
health  formula  of  old  Hippocrates  ought  ever  to  be 
kept  in  mind — "  Pure  air,  pure  water,  and  a  pure  soil." 
We  seem,  to  a  great  extent,  to  have  forgotten  the  im- 
portance of  the  latter,  if  not  of  the  former,  of  these. 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— DRAINAGE.  175 

How  long  we  may  escape  fatal  results  from  the  poison- 
ous matters  draining  into  our  wells  from  sinks  and  cess- 
pools, or  coming  back  in  gaseous  form  into  our  dwell- 
ings from  drains  or  the  putrescent  house-slops  thrown 
under  the  kitchen  window,  we  cannot  tell.  But  this 
we  know,  or  ought  to  know,  that  whenever  we  are  liv- 
ing under  such  circumstances,  we  are  living  under  the 
constant  threat  of  disease  and  death;  and  when  death 
occurs  in  such  cases,  instead  of  saying  that  one  died  by 
the  act  of  Divine  Providence,  as  we  are  so  accustomed 
to  do,  we  ought  rather  to  say,  he  died  as  the  result  of 
human  improvidence.  It  ought  to  be  recognized  as  a 
first  duty  to  remove,  as  far  as  possible,  or  to  a  safe  dis- 
tance, all  sources  of  danger  from  the  pollution  of  the 
soil.  It  should  be  a  fixed  principle  with  every  house- 
holder to  see  that  all  the  waste  substances  of  the  house 
— waste  food,  waste  matters  from  the  body,  decayed  and 
decaying  vegetables,  and  organic  substances  of  every 
kind — shall  be  removed  from  the  house,  and  not  allow- 
ed to  get  back  to  it  again,  whether  in  solution  in  water 
or  mingled  with  the  air  we  breathe.  The  wash  of  the 
house  should  by  some  means  be  carried  rapidly  away, 
and  either  made  useful  by  being  returned  as  fertilizing 
matter  to  farm  or  garden  by  means  of  the  compost- 
heap,  or  conducted  into  some  stream  by  which  it  shall 
be  washed  away.  At  any  rate,  and  at  any  cost,  it  should 
be  put  at  a  distance  from  the  dwelling. 

Many  of  the  drains  used  for  the  purpose  of  carrying 
waste  matters  away  from  the  house  are  worse  than  use- 


176  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

less ;  they  are  positively  harmful.  They  are  causes,  rath- 
er than  remedies,  of  danger.  Instead  of  removing,  they 
often  keep  near  us  the  foul  and  festering  matters  in 
which  are  the  seeds  of  disease  and  death.  Who  has  not 
been  troubled  with  drains  and  sink-outlets  filled  up,  so 
that  the  wash  of  the  house  would  no  longer  pass  through 
them  ?  Who  does  not  also  remember  the  sickening  ef- 
fect when  the  drain  has  been  fully  uncovered,  in  order 
that  the  accumulated  filth  might  be  removed  ?  But  the 
sickening  shock  of  such  occasions  is  only  the  empha- 
sized report  of  what  has  really  existed  every  day  for 
weeks — it  may  be  months — before.  It  is  only  the  reve- 
lation or  uncovering  of  what  existed,  and  was  doing  its 
poisoning  work  unseen  ;  all  the  while  breeding,  slowly 
if  not  swiftly,  disorders  of  mild  or  malignant  type,  or 
bringing  on  those  nameless  debilities  and  local  affec- 
tions which  are  ready  to  issue  at  any  time  in  fatal 
disease.* 

*  Even  while  writing  this  chapter,  the  papers  have  brought  to  us  sever- 
al illustrations  of  the  results  of  defective  or  improper  drainage.  We  copy 
the  following,  not  as  being  more  remarkable  than  many  others,  but  only 
as  an  example  of  what  is  taking  place  all  the  while : 

"The  shocking  story  of  the  death,  in  rapid  succession,  of  six  children  of 
Patrick  Murray,  of  Newport,  B.  I.,  by  diphtheria,  was  telegraphed  at  the 
time,  with  an  account  of  the  frenzy  of  the  father,  whose  grief  had  almost 
crazed  him.  The  mayor  of  the  city  requested  Colonel  George  E.  Waring, 
Jr.,  one  of  the  most  accomplished  civil  engineers  in  the  country,  to  investi- 
gate the  case  carefully,  and  the  report  is  now  published.  It  is  condensed 
in  one  word — filth.  That  was  the  patent  cause  of  the  trouble.  The  drain- 
pipes all  led  to  a  '  leaching  cesspool '  in  the  ground  which  had  not  been 
touched  for  ten  years.  There  were  virtually  no  traps  in  the  pipes,  and  the 
vilest  gases  flowed  into  the  living  room  as  easily  as — indeed,  more  easily 


SANITARY  ASPECTS. -DRAIN AGE.  177 

As  usually  constructed  our  drains  carry  off  the  waste 
and  wash  of  the  house  so  sluggishly  that  the  greasy 
matters,  by  themselves  perhaps  innocuous,  become  chill- 
ed before  they  are  carried  far,  and  adhere  to  the  sides 
of  the  drain,  serving  also  to  fix  other  and  more  deleteri- 
ous matters  with  them.  Thus  there  gradually  accumu- 
lates a  festering  mass,  which,  occasionally  at  least,  sends 
back  its  polluting  gases  into  the  house,  even  though 
there  be  a  sink-trap ;  and  finally  gives  notice  of  its  pres- 
ence in  a  way  to  be  no  longer  disregarded,  by  a  com- 
plete stoppage  of  the  drain. 

than — pure  nir.  Besides  this,  out  of  the  '  living-room  '  of  the  family  there 
opened  a  sort  of  L,  one  room  through  which  was  the  back  entrance  to  the 
house.  Under  this  L,  which  had  no  cellar,  ran  the  main  outlet  sewer- 
pipe  on  its  way  to  the  cesspool.  The  pipe  had  recently  broken  ;  filth  had 
oozed  out  and  covered  and  permeated  the  sea- weed  packing  that  had  been 
put  over  the  pipe  to  keep  it  from  freezing  in  winter,  and  with  the  first 
warm  weather  deadly  gases  from  the  decomposition  spread  at  once.  The 
first  victim  was  the  oldest  child  ,  her  domestic  duties  kept  her  at  the  sink, 
and  the  air  she  inhaled  there,  contaminated  by  the  untrapped  sink  outlet, 
hnd  so  weakened  her  that  she  went  down  first.  The  closing  words  of  the 
report  should  be  read  everywhere.  Colonel  Waring  says : 

"  'Murray's  children  are  gone — past  recall ;  but  other  children  in  New- 
port, and  all  over  the  land,  are  being  subjected  to  unsuspected  dangers  of 
the  sort  above  described;  and  I  cannot  close  the  record  of  this  deplorable 
calamity  without  entreating  all  physicians  who  may  be  called  to  cases  of 
filth-born  disease  to  insist  on  an  immediate  and  most  searching  scrutiny 
of  all  possible  sources  of  contamination  ;  and,  if  contamination  is  found, 
upon  the  immediate  removal  of  the  whole  family  away  from  the  infected 
premises.  If  Patrick  Murray  and  his  family  had  been  removed  into  Mr. 
Cushing's  stable,  into  a  tent,  or  into  a  wholesome  house,  on  the  first  devel- 
opment of  the  disease,  there  might  have  been  n  chance  of  saving  them. 
Left  where  they  were,  they  fell  one  after  another  before  an  unremitted  as- 
sault, which  the  simplest  examination  would  have  discovered.'" 


178  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

A  mistake  is  often  made  in  the  construction  of  drains 
by  making  them  too  large.  A  drain  five  inches  in  di- 
ameter is  large  enough  for  any  house.  When  larger 
than  this,  the  liquids  passing  through  them  are  spread 
over  a  wide  surface,  friction  is  increased,  consequently 
the  waste  matters  move  slowly,  and  there  is  the  greater 
danger  of  adhesion  to  the  sides  of  the  drain,  and  of  con- 
sequent accumulation  and  the  generation  of  gases,  if  not 
of  final  stoppage.  The  smaller  drain  has  less  surface 
exposed  to  the  deposit  of  offensive  matters,  while  the 
swifter  flow  of  the  current  tends  to  sweep  them  all 
away  to  their  place  of  ultimate  deposit.  Our  hydraulic 
engineers  have  found  it  advantageous  to  use  pipes  of 
smaller  size  than  those  which  were  considered  necessary 
for  the  same  service  a  few  years  ago. 

Drains  should  be  made  of  tile  or  of  metallic  pipe 
rather  than  of  wood  or  bricks,  on  account  of  smoothness 
of  surface  and  the  consequent  readiness  with  which  the 
contents  of  the  drains  will  flow  away.  They  should 
not  be  of  porous  material,  nor  have  loose  joints  which 
will  allow  the  leakage  of  either  gases  or  fluids.  The 
cement  or  the  vitrified  drain-tile  is  probably  the  best 
material  we  have  for  this  purpose,  if  it  is  carefully  fit- 
ted at  the  joints.  To  make  the  work  of  drainage  en- 
tirely satisfactory,  however,  there  should  be  either  such 
an  abundant  supply  of  water  flowing  through  the  drain 
all  the  time,  from  some  spring  or  aqueduct  source,  as  to 
wash  everything  of  waste  nature  quickly  away  to  a  safe 
distance,  or  there  should  be  some  means  by  which,  at 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— DRAINAGE. 


179 


frequent  intervals,  the  drain  can  be  flushed  and  so  be 
swept  clean  of  all  waste  and  deleterious  substances.  An 
excellent  contrivance  for  the  latter  purpose,  known  as 
Field's  Flush-tank,  has  been  in  use  for  several  years  in 
England,  but  is  little  known  as  yet  in  this  country.  It 
consists  essentially  of  a  tank — a  barrel  or  hogshead  will 
answer  the  purpose — with  an  inlet  for  the  house-waste 
at  the  top  through  a  grating,  and  a  siphon  tube,  the  bent 


part  of  which  is  near  the  top  of  the  tank.  One  foot  of 
the  siphon  is  near  the  bottom  of  the  tank,  and  the  other 
is  so  connected  with  the  drain  that  when  the  siphon  is 
thrown  into  action  by  the  filling  of  the  tank  to  the  top 
of  the  siphon,  the  entire  contents  of  the  tank  are  at  once 
drawn  off,  and  flow  through  the  drain  with  such  force 
that  nothing  lodges  by  the  way.  The  peculiar  merit  of 
this  tank  is  that  the  waste-water,  and  whatever  may  be 


180 


VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


contained  in  it,  instead  of  being  allowed  to  flow  into 
the  drain  in  small  quantities,  as  is  so  commonly  the  case, 
and  therefore  to  flow  with  so  little  force  that  greasy  and 
other  matters  may  easily  adhere  to  the  sides  of  the  drain 
and  finally  obstruct  it,  is  now  discharged  only  when  the 
tank  is  completely  filled,  and  then  all  at  once  and  with 
a  strong  and  rapid  flow.  The  accompanying  cut,  for 
the  design  of  which  we  are  indebted  to  Colonel  George 
E.  Waring,  Jr.,  who  is  an  authority  on  the  subject  of 
drainage,  will  explain  the  construction  and  working  of 
this  tank. 

Care  should  be  taken  to  secure  such  a  slope  in  con- 
structing a  drain  that  its  contents  may  readily  flow  off. 
This  should  not  be  less  than  thirty  inches  in  a  hundred 
feet ;  a  slope  three  times  as  great  would  be  better,  as 
producing  a  more  rapid  and  effectual  flow. 

But  with  the  best  arrangement  in  other  respects, 
great  mischief  may  be  wrought,  and  when  we  are  least 
aware  of  it,  unless  care  be  taken  to  cause  all  drains  and 
waste-pipes  to  be  well  ventilated,  and  so  arranged  by 
proper  and  sufficient  traps  that  the  gases  generated  in 

them  shall  not  be 
allowed  to  enter  the 
rooms  of  the  dwell- 
ing. 

Here  is  given  an 
illustration    of    a 
common    form    of 
trap  for  a  drain,  the  entrance  to  which  is  out-of-doors. 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— DRAINAGE.  181 

If  such  a  trap  is  placed  within  the  house,  there  should 
be  a  ventilating-pipe  extending  from  the  trap,  or  from 
the  drain  near  it,  to  a  point  in  the  open  air,  which  will 
convey  any  possible  noxious  gases  to  a  safe  distance. 

Too  much  care  cannot  be  taken  with  all  traps  and 
drain-pipes,  whether  within  doors  or  without,  to  see  that 
they  are  properly  ventilated,  and  that  no  noxious  gases 
can  escape  from  them  into  the  apartments  of  the  house. 
The  overflow  pipes  of  our  wash-basins,  for  want  of 
properly  constructed  traps  and  proper  ventilation,  have 
often  been  overflow's  of  foul  gases  into  our  rooms. 

With  any  arrangement  there  will  be  more  or  less  of 
effete  matter  adhering  to  the  sides  of  the  sewer  and  of 
the  drainage  pipes,  and  this  will  give  origin  to  delete- 
rious gases  ready  to  penetrate  our  houses  and  rooms 
whenever  opportunity  offers.  To  prevent  this,  it  is  de- 
sirable, in  the  first  place,  to  give  the  sewer  and  the  sew- 
erage pipes,  if  there  be  any  within  the  house,  as  free 
communication  as  possible  with  the  outer  air.  The 
atmosphere  is  the  great  oxidizer  of  all  foul  matters — that 
by  which  they  are  consumed.  The  more  and  the  soon- 
er we  can  bring  all  foul  and  waste  matters  into  contact 
with  the  atmosphere,  the  better.  Hence,  in  the  case  of 
the  flush-tank  of  which  we  have  spoken,  there  ought  to 
be  a  ventilating-pipe  extending  from  the  top  of  the 
tank  to  some  point  considerably  above  it,  so  that  the 
gases  which  will  inevitably  be  engendered  in  it  may  pass 
off  to  a  place  of  safety.  So,  likewise,  sewers  should 
have  similar  ventilating-pipes  or  openings ;  and  the  soil- 


182 


VILLAGES  AXD   VILLAGE  LIFE. 


pipe  connected  with  sinks  or  water-closets  should  be 
carried  from  the  drain  or  sewer  to  the  top  of  the  house 
in  a  straight  and  unbroken  line,  and  be  three  or  four 
inches  in  diameter,  so  as  to  admit  abundance  of  air.  It 
should  be  of  cast-iron,  with  joints  effectively  cemented, 
so  that  no  gas  can  escape  through  them.  It  should  ex- 
tend some  distance  above  the  roof,  and  its  extremity  be 
covered  with  a  hood,  as  shown  in  the  accompanying  cut, 
so  that  whatever  may  be  the  currents 
of  wind,  there  may  yet  be  a  clear 
upward  and  outward  draught.  All 
water-basins  should  empty  into  this 
main  upright  pipe  by  side  pipes  pro- 
tected by  traps,  so  that  no  gas  may 
be  able  to  get  back  through  the  wa- 
ter-closets into  the  house  apartments.  And  then,  final- 
ly, there  should  be  such  a  supply  of  water  as  will  ef- 
fectually wash  away  all  effete  matters,  and  carry  them 
as  speedily  as  possible  from  the  dwelling  and  to  their 
ultimate  destination.  Only  thus  can  the  work  of  drain- 
age be  effectually  done. 

The  management  of  drains  is  attended  with  difficulty 
at  the  best ;  but  their  proper  management  is  the  price 
of  life  and  health,  the  latter  of  which  is,  in  many  in- 
stances, more  important  than  the  former.  Says  Profess- 
or Brewer,  of  New  Haven,  writing  upon  this  very  sub- 
ject, "  Let  us  not  forget  that  the  evil  of  death  is  not  the 
greatest  one.  A  man  dead  may  be  a  loss  to  a  family  or 
a  community,  but  he  is  not  a  burden.  A  sick  man  is 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— DRAINAGE.  183 

no  longer  a  producer ;  he  is  a  burden,  often  a  heavy  one, 
on  his  friends."  It  is  estimated  that  for  every  case  of 
death  there  are  five  cases  of  severe  sickness ;  and  how 
many  cases  are  there  of  chronic,  life-long  ailments  and 
debilities  of  one  sort  or  another?  A  large  part  of  these 
are  believed  to  be  connected  more  or  less  directly  with 
the  improper  disposal  of  the  waste  matters  of  our  dwell- 
ings and  the  consequent  pollution  of  the  water  and  the 
air.  Here,  then,  is  the  point  where  we  should  be  will- 
ing to  expend  most  freely  our  care,  and,  so  far  as  may 
be  needful,  our  money ;  every  interest  of  man  and  so- 
ciety demands  it.  Stagnant  water  near  houses;  damp 
cellars  arising  from  a  soil  from  which  the  water  does 
not  readily  find  an  outlet — these  evils  should  be  reme- 
died by  thorough  drainage,  and,  in  connection  with 
these,  all  household  wastes  should  be  put  at  a  safe 
distance. 


184:  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

SANITARY  ASPECTS   OF   COUNTRY    LIFE    (continued). — 
VENTILATION. 

"  Man's  greatest  enemy  is  his  own  breath." 

"It  is  not  too  general  an  expression  to  say  that  every  thought  and  act 
of  man,  as  well  as  every  action  within  his  body,  is  accompanied  by  the 
consumption  of  oxygen  and  deterioration  of  the  surrounding  air." — DR. 
EDWARD  SMITH. 

IN  considering  the  sanitary  aspects  of  country  life,  as 
indeed  of  life  anywhere,  drainage  and  ventilation  are 
of  paramount  importance.  It  is  difficult  to  decide 
which  of  the  two  is  the  more  important.  They  are 
closely  linked  together,  and  often  it  is  hardly  possible  to 
separate  them.  Ventilation  may  be  said  to  be  the  sew- 
erage of  the  atmosphere ;  the  one  implies  or  necessitates 
the  other.  Drainage  is  imperfect  without  a  proper  sys- 
tem of  ventilation,  as  a  proper  system  of  ventilation 
cannot  be  carried  out  without  a  corresponding  system 
of  drainage. 

It  is  because  of  the  imperfect  arrangements  for  venti- 
lation connected  with  them  that  many  modern  plans  for 
underground  drainage  have  been  pronounced  inferior,  in 
a  sanitary  point  of  view,  to  the  old  plan  of  carrying  away 
the  filth  and  slops  of  houses  by  means  of  open  surface 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— VENTILATION.  185 

drains.  The  sight  of  the  foul  mass  in  the  latter  case  is 
not  pleasant ;  but  it  is  better  to  have  the  sight  of  it  and 
feel  that  in  the  open  air  there  is  some  probability  that 
the  waste  matters  will  be  rapidly  oxidized  and  so  ren- 
dered innoxious,  or  that  the  various  gases  engendered 
will  be  rapidly  dissipated  by  the  free  winds,  than  to 
have  these  gases  arising  in  a  close  drain  where,  for  want 
of  proper  outlet,  they  may  be  driven  back  into  the  va- 
rious apartments  of  the  house  to  work  their  mischief 
there. 

Nearly  all  are  ready  to  admit  the  importance  to  health 
of  pure  water  and  pure  air.  Comparatively  few,  how- 
ever, will  take  the  pains  necessary  to  secure  the  one  or 
the  other.  People  will  take  it  for  granted  that  they 
have  both  pure  air  and  pure  water,  without  any  suf- 
ficient consideration  of  the  facts  on  which  their  purity 
depends.  That  one  lives  in  the  country,  and  not  in  the 
city  or  densely  populated  town,  is  thought  to  be,  of  it- 
self, the  sufficient  guarantee  that  he  will  have  these 
vital  elements  in  a  state  of  purity.  If  the  water  is  not 
turbid,  and  if  there  is  no  absolutely  foul  smell  in  the 
atmosphere,  it  is  supposed  that  both  are  in  the  proper 
condition  for  the  promotion  of  health.  But  modern 
science  has  proved  that  while  the  senses  of  taste  and 
smell  have  an  important  office  in  warning  us  of  many 
things  which  are  or  would  be  prejudicial  to  health,  they 
are  not  sufficient  to  secure  us  against  some  of  the  great- 
est dangers  which  threaten  us  on  this  score.  Water,  as 
we  have  seen,  may  be  poisonous  when  it  is  altogether 

N 


186  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

pleasant  to  the  taste,  while,  on  the  contrary,  it  may  be 
all  that  health  demands,  although  so  turbid  that  the  eye 
regards  it  with  suspicion.  So,  also,  the  air  may  be  un- 
favorable to  health  when  none  of  the  senses  can  detect 
the  hurtful  ingredient  in  it.  It  is  not  the  foul-smelling 
gases  which  mingle  with  the  air  that  are  the  most  harm- 
ful. Carbonic  acid  and  carbonic  oxide,  which  are  so 
fatal,  frequently  give  no  sign  of  their  noxious  quality 
to  the  senses.  The  former  of  these  is  even  very  grateful 
to  the  taste.  It  is  what  gives  the  sparkle  and  the  pleas- 
ant tingle  on  the  tongue  to  our  most  agreeable  drinking- 
waters,  whether  from  the  native  spring  or  the  so-called 
"soda-fountain"  of  the  shops,  which,  however,  has  no 
trace  of  soda  about  it. 

The  air  which  we  breathe,  it  hardly  needs  to  be  said, 
is  composed  mainly  of  three  ingredients  in  gaseous  form. 
One  of  these  bears  so  small  a  proportion  to  the  others 
that  the  atmosphere  is  often  said  to  be  composed  of  the 
latter  alone,  there  being  little  more  than  a  trace,  or  from 
four  to  six  parts  of  carbonic  acid  in  ten  thousand  parts 
of  the  atmosphere  in  its  normal  condition.  In  general 
terms,  and  for  ordinary  purposes,  the  air  may  be  regard- 
ed as  composed  of  oxygen  and  nitrogen.  The  former 
constitutes  about  one  fourth  of  the  atmosphere  in  weight 
and  one  fifth  in  bulk,  the  latter  being  three  fourths  of  it 
in  weight  or  four  fifths  in  bulk. 

It  is  the  oxygen  of  the  air  which  supports  life.  The 
nitrogen  seems  to  be  important,  so  far  as  respiration 
and  the  support  of  animal  life  are  concerned,  chiefly  as 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— VENTILATION.  187 

a  medium  for  the  dilution  of  the  oxygen,  or  a  vehicle  for 
its  proper  conveyance  into  the  body.  In  an  atmosphere 
of  oxygen  alone,  life  would  go  on  too  fast  and  end  too 
soon,  as  the  familiar  experiments  of  the  chemists  show 
us  that  candles  and  other  combustible  substances  burn 
with  increased  brilliancy  and  increased  rapidity  in  oxy- 
gen. Respiration,  we  now  know,  is  a  true  combustion, 
as  much  so  as  the  burning  of  wood  or  coal  in  the  stove, 
and  resulting,  as  that  does,  in  heat.  It  is  the  oxygen 
we  breathe  which  is  the  source  of  our  animal  heat,  the 
carbon  and  hydrogen  of  the  blood,  derived  from  our 
food,  being  oxidized,  as  the  wood  or  coal  is  oxidized 
or  burned  in  the  stove.  The  chief  difference  between 
the  combustion  going  on  in  the  human  body  and  that 
of  a  lamp  or  a  fire  is,  that  the  former  goes  on  at  a  lower 
temperature  and  at  a  slower  rate  than  the  latter ;  just  as 
in  the  rusting  of  iron,  which  again  is  a  simple  combus- 
tion, the  combustion  goes  on  at  a  still  lower  tempera- 
ture and  a  still  slower  rate. 

We  take  in,  or  inhale,  the  air  we  breathe  for  the  pur- 
pose of  bringing  oxygen  (or  vital  air,  as  it  was  formerly 
called,  because  life  is  so  dependent  upon  it)  into  contact 
with  the  blood  in  the  lungs,  and  through  that  into  con- 
tact with  the  contents  of  the  blood  throughout  the  body. 
The  oxidation  of  the  carbon  and  hydrogen  in  the  blood 
gives  origin  to  carbonic -acid  gas  and  watery  vapor, 
which  are  thrown  out  from  the  body  at  every  expira- 
tion along  with  the  nitrogen  which  we  have  inhaled. 
"  The  body,"  says  Dr.  Edward  Smith,  "  is  a  great  oxi- 


188  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

dizing  apparatus  by  which  it  sustains  its  bulk,  produces 
heat,  and  modifies  the  composition  of  the  atmosphere ; 
and  when  it  has  cast  off  that  which,  having  been  used, 
is  no  longer  useful  to  it,  it  not  only  deteriorates  the  at- 
mosphere, but  renders  it  impure." 

In  the  natural  arrangement  of  things,  the  oxygen  of 
the  air  is  supplied  in  the  proper  proportion  for  the  best 
support  of  life  and  health,  and  provision  is  made  for 
removing  from  us  at  once  the  noxious  products  or  waste 
material  thrown  off  by  respiration.  Gaseous  substances 
have  a  remarkable  property  of  diffusibility.  As  the  re- 
sult of  this,  the  carbonic  acid  thrown  out  from  the  lungs, 
though  heavier  than  common  air,  tends  at  once  to  spread 
through  the  great  ocean  of  the  atmosphere  above  and 
around,  and  so  does  not  remain  in  hurtful  proportions 
near  us  to  be  inhaled  in  place  of,  or  mingled  with,  the 
pure  oxygen.  So,  also,  where  there  are  trees  and  plants, 
these  perform  an  important  sanitary  function  for  us. 
They  breathe  through  their  leaves,  as  we  do  through  our 
lungs.  But  there  is  one  very  important  difference  be- 
tween the  breathing  of  animals  and  that  of  plants. 
While  the  former  inhale  oxygen  and  throw  out  carbonic 
acid,  which  is  poisonous  to  them,  the  plants  greedily  ab- 
sorb this  gas  by  their  leaves  or  lungs,  and,  decomposing 
it  in  their  laboratory,  add  it  to  their  own  structure  in 
the  form  of  solid  carbon,  while  they  set  free,  or  pour 
out  into  the  air,  the  oxygen  of  the  carbonic  acid,  fit  to 
be  used  again  by  man. 

•  Thus  we  see  how  the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— VENTILATION.  189 

stand  in  most  beautiful  and  important  relation  to  each 
other,  the  one  built  up  out  of  the  waste  of  the  other. 
And  so,  if  men  lived  in  the  open  air  along  with  the 
trees,  and  did  nothing  to  pollute  the  atmosphere  except 
to  pour  into  it  the  products  of  respiration,  the  trees 
would  keep  the  air  pure  for  them. 

But  as  we  live  in  houses,  and  shut  ourselves  close  in 
them  so  that  the  trees  can  help  us  little,  what  shall  we 
do  ?  What,  of  course,  but  see  to  it  that  our  houses  are  so 
constructed  as  to  secure  the  needful  supply  of  oxygen  for 
our  lungs,  and  the  removal  to  a  safe  distance  of  the  poi- 
sonous matter  which  our  lungs  are  all  the  while  throw- 
ing off.  This  is  the  simple  dictate  of  self-preservation. 

Every  person,  if  he  would  breathe  as  good  an  atmos- 
phere as  that  ordinarily  found  out-of-doors,  requires 
about  a  thousand  cubic  feet  of  pure  air  every  hour. 
This  would  be  sufficient  to  fill  a  room  ten  feet  square 
and  ten  feet  in  height.  Some  have  said  that  the  hourly 
demand  of  air  for  a  state  of  health  is  three  thousand 
cubic  feet ;  but  careful  experiments  have  shown  that 
this  is  not  necessary.  But  on  the  lower  estimate  which 
we  have  given,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  rapidly  the  air  of 
our  public  and  private  rooms  must  become  vitiated  un- 
less some  means  be  taken  to  avoid  the  danger.  "Man's 
greatest  enemy,"  one  has  said,  "  is  his  own  breath."  By 
the  very  processes  of  life,  we  are  threatening  ourselves 
with  death.  Shut  one  in  a  close  room,  and  he  will  soon 
die,  as  certainly  as  though  he  were  to  place  by  him  a 
brazier  of  burning  charcoal.  Every  time  we  breathe  we 


190  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

make  the  air  about  us  less  fit  to  breathe.  Our  only 
safety,  therefore,  is  in  having  the  air  around  us  in  mo- 
tion, so  that  what  we  expire — the  noxious  gases,  the  ef- 
fete matter  poured  out  of  our  bodies  by  means  of  the 
lungs — may  be  carried  away  and  a  supply  of  wholesome 
air  may  be  brought  to  us.  Hence  movement  of  the  air 
is  essential  to  life.  Still  air  is  virtually  death. 

And  yet,  as  though  we  were  bent  on  suicide,  what 
pains  we  take,  with  our  double  windows,  window-stops, 
and  weather-strips,  to  shut  out  the  pure  air  from  our 
rooms  and  imprison  that  which  we  have  fouled  and 
made  unfit  to  be  breathed,  and  to  imprison  ourselves 
with  it !  It  is  worse  than  substituting  greenbacks  for 
gold,  for  it  is  debasing  the  currency  of  life.  Then 
think  how  the  student  often  sits  hour  after  hour  ab- 
sorbed in  his  studies,  with  door  locked  fast  against  any 
possible  opening ;  or  how  our  wives  and  daughters, 
busy  with  needle  or  book,  sit  the  whole  morning  or  af- 
ternoon in  some  small  apartment  through  whose  closed 
doors  no  one  comes  or  goes  for  hours  together !  Think 
also  of  the  mere  closets,  called  bedrooms,  in  which  so 
many  sleep,  or  try  to  sleep,  commonly  with  doors  and 
windows  shut,  as  though  all  we  need  were  space  for  a 
bed  and  possibly  a  wash-stand !  Is  it  to  be  wondered 
at  that  the  brain  of  the  student  grows  dull  and  refuses 
to  work,  or  that  mothers  and  daughters  have  aching 
heads,  or  that  so  many  wake  in  the  morning  not  rested 
or  refreshed,  and  with  a  good-for-nothing  feeling  and  a 
general  lassitude  ? 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— VENTILATION.  191 

And,  to  make  the  matter  worse,  during  the  season 
when  windows  and  doors  are  kept  constantly  shut,  we 
also  frequently  place  in  sitting  and  sleeping  rooms  a 
stove,  which  is  itself  a  ravenous  consumer  of  oxygen, 
lives  upon  it,  in  fact,  just  as  we  do,  and  for  the  same 
reason ;  and  this  stove  probably  pours  out  from  its  vari- 
ous joints  a  large  amount  of  carbonic  acid  and  carbonic 
oxide.  Thus  the  supply  of  vital  air  needful  for  us  is 
still  further  lessened. 

The  quantity  of  carbonic  acid  exhaled  from  the  lungs 
of  an  adult  is  estimated  to  be  two  hundred  and  fifty 
gallons  every  twenty -four  hours.  In  addition  to  the 
vitiation  of  a  close  sleeping-room  or  sitting-room  from 
this  cause,  four  pounds  of  moisture  are  in  the  same  time 
given  off  by  perspiration,  contaminated  with  various 
minute  organic  and  deleterious  substances.  "  If,"  says 
Prof.  C.  E.  Joy,  "  the  air  of  an  occupied  room  loses  one 
per  cent,  of  its  oxygen,  respiration  becomes  difficult ; 
the  loss  of  four  per  cent,  renders  life  nearly  insupport- 
able, and  death  arrives  when  the  loss  reaches  five  or  six 
per  cent."  Think,  then,  what  is  the  condition  often  of 
our  family  apartments ;  still  more,  what  is  the  condition, 
in  regard  to  health,  of  our  schools  and  churches  and 
other  public  buildings,  where  for  every  thousand  per- 
sons there  will  be  thrown  off,  by  the  breath  and  by  in- 
sensible perspiration,  from  two  to  five  hundred  pounds 
of  fetid  vapor,  and  two  hundred  pounds  of  carbonic- 
acid  gas  every  six  hours.  Can  we  wonder  that  we 
have  dull  and  disorderly  schools,  drowsy  listeners  to 


192  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

drowsy  sermons,  or  headaches  by  day  and  by  night,  or 
corrupting  and  fatal  diseases  of  the  lungs  from  corrupt 
air  constantly  inhaled  ? 

But  the  story  of  the  lack  of  proper  ventilation  in  our 
country  homes  is  not  yet  fully  told.  Who  does  not  re- 
member the  stifling  atmosphere  when  he  has  been  ush- 
ered into  the  best  room  of  some  farm-house,  the  sicken- 
ing, musty  smell,  making  him  think  of  fever  in  spite 
of  himself,  and  the  mingled  odors  of  decaying  turnips, 
onions,  cabbages,  and  potatoes,  coming  up  through  the 
crevices  of  the  floor  from  the  cellar  below  ?  But  what 
is  thus  in  the  best  room,  and  reveals  itself  so  pungently, 
because  that  room  is  shut  perhaps  for  weeks  together,  is 
equally  present  in  the  other  rooms,  only  not  so  percep- 
tibly, and  is  working  its  mischief  all  the  while.  And 
this  is  the  atmosphere  in  which  many  of  the  people  of 
our  villages  live  from  year  to  year.  Our  modern  hos- 
pitals and  jails  are  palaces  of  purity  in  comparison  with 
many  a  stately  country  house.  We  make  ourselves  fit 
for  the  hospital  in  our  dwellings,  and  then  perhaps  go 
to  the  hospital  to  learn  how  a  building  should  be  ar- 
ranged to  secure  health. 

Thus,  in  the  matter  of  ventilation  as  well  as  in  that 
of  drainage,  the  villages  have  become  more  defective 
than  the  towns  and  cities,  for  in  these  necessity  has  at 
length  compelled  attention  to  both .  of  these  subjects, 
while  in  the  country  they  are  as  yet  very  generally 
neglected. 

It  is  a  curious  fact,  also,  stated  on  the  authority  of 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— VENTILATION.  193 

Professor  Joy,  that  attention  was  first  drawn  to  the  sub- 
ject of  ventilation  in  a  practical  way,  not  with  a  view  to 
benefit  human  beings,  but  brute  animals.  "  It  was  not 
for  the  sick  in  hospitals  that  new  devices  were  intro- 
duced, but  for  the  silk-worms  in  the  spinning  of  cocoons. 
Observation  showed  the  necessity  of  fresh  air  to  the 
preservation  of  the  worms,  and  it  was  carefully  intro- 
duced ;  and,  after  it  was  done,  the  same  apparatus  was 
pronounced  to  be  equally  useful  for  man."  So  it  was 
because  a  man  had  successfully  ventilated  a  stable  in 
New  York  that  he  was  asked  to  apply  his  invention  to 
a  public  building.  It  was  first  the  horses,  then  the  men. 
And  to-day  the  hall  in  Paris  in  which  meets  the  French 
Institute,  the  first  scientific  body  in  the  world,  is  said 
to  be  the  worst-ventilated  room  in  Europe. 

The  first  principle  in  regard  to  ventilation,  or  the 
preservation  of  the  air  of  our  houses  in  a  fit  condition  for 
health,  is  that  there  must  be  opportunity  for  its  free  cir- 
culation in  the  house  and  in  every  room  of  the  house. 
It  is  not  necessary,  however,  that  this  circulation  should 
be  attended  with  strong  draughts,  or  currents,  unpleas- 
antly perceptible  or  dangerous.  If  there  is  a  ventilat- 
ing-flue  in  the  house,  or  a  properly  arranged  furnace  by 
which  the  house  is  heated,  and  the  windows  and  doors 
are  not  fitted  close  or  sealed  with  the  so-called  weather- 
strips, a  sufficient  change  of  air  will  be  secured,  the  fresh 
warm  air  from  the  furnace  pushing  out  the  vitiated  air 
through  the  crevices  of  doors  and  windows,  or  through 
a  flue  designed  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  off 


194  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

the  impure  air.  Only  care  must  be  taken  to  avoid  two 
dangers — first,  that  of  having  a  furnace  so  imperfectly 
constructed  as  to  permit  the  gas  from  the  burning  coal 
to  get  admission  to  the  hot-air  pipes;  and,  second,  that 
of  taking  the  air  to  be  heated  from  the  cellar,  and  not 
from  without  the  house.  For  want  of  proper  precaution 
in  regard  to  these  dangers,  many  furnaces  have  been 
prolific  sources  of  disease.  They  have  been  but  so  many 
contrivances  for  pouring  poisonous  gases  into  our  rooms. 
Too  much  care  can  hardly  be  exercised  on  both  these 
points.  Cast  iron,  of  which  most  furnaces  until  recently 
have  been  constructed,  has  been  proved  to  be  permeable 
by  gases  when  it  is  heated  to  a  high  temperature.  Pref- 
erence should  be  given,  therefore,  to  furnaces  construct- 
ed of  wrought  iron.  Care  should  also  be  taken  to  have 
as  few  joints  and  seams  as  possible  around  the  fire-pot 
and  flues,  and  to  see  that  these  are  so  made  that  no  gases 
from  the  fire  shall  pass  through  them  into  the  apart- 
ments above.  Then  it  should  be  remembered  that  the 
air  of  no  cellar  is  pure,  or  fit  to  be  used  as  the  source 
from  which  the  supply  of  heated  air  is  to  be  drawn 
for  the  purpose  of  respiration.  It  is  simply  a  violation 
of  the  laws  of  health  to  use  it.  No  one  should  think  of 
using  a  furnace  without  having  connected  with  it  an  air- 
box  of  large  size  reaching  a  point  outside  of  the  house, 
and  considerably  above  the  level  of  the  ground.  Steam 
and  hot-water  heaters  are,  in  some  respects,  preferable 
to  hot-air  furnaces;  but  there  can  be  no  simpler  or 
more  effective  way  of  supplying  an  abundance  of  fresh 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— VENTILATION.  195 

air  to  a  whole  house  than  a  properly  constructed  fur- 
nace. 

It  ought  also  to  be  remembered  that  every  furnace 
or  heater  should  have  as  an  essential  part  of  it  an  appa- 
ratus for  evaporating  water.  The  cold  air  from  with- 
out has  less  capacity  for  moisture  than  it  has  after  it 
is  heated.  If  this  increased  capacity  is  not  satisfied  by 
an  evaporating-dish,  the  warmed  air  will  take  its  desired 
moisture  from  our  lungs,  or  our  furniture,  or  wherever 
it  can  get  it.  Many  housekeepers  know  that  doors 
shrink  and  chairs  and  tables  open  their  joints  when 
the  furnace  fires  have  been  in  operation  for  a  while. 
They  do  not  always  understand  the  reason  of  it  or  the 
remedy  for  it.  Nor  do  they  always  consider  that  the 
too  dry  air  is  as  bad  for  us  as  it  is  for  our  furniture. 

But  the  best  of  all  ventilators  within  ordinary  reach 
is  an  open  fireplace.  Nothing  has  ever  equalled  the 
old  fireplace  of  a  century  ago  as  an  instrument  at  the 
same  time  of  good  cheer  and  good  health.  That  old 
fireplace,  of  which  hardly  more  than  the  tradition  now 
remains,  was  the  centre  and  glory  of  the  country  house. 
The  kitchen  was  the  family  living-room,  and  large 
enough  to  be  such  with  both  comfort  and  decency.  It 
usually  occupied  the  entire  width  of  the  house,  with  the 
exception  of  a  small  portion  reserved  for  pantry  or  bed- 
room. In  the  centre  of  one  side  was  a  huge  fireplace, 
into  which  almost  a  cart-load  of  wood  might  be  emptied 
at  a  time,  and  where  there  was  room  besides  for  the 
children  to  sit  literally  in  the  chimney-corner.  Such 


196  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

logs  were  laid  there  for  the  foundation  of  the  fire  as  no 
man  alone  could  lift.  Tradition  says  they  were  some- 
times drawn  in  by  cattle.  And  then,  when  the  arinf  uls 
of  lesser  logs,  and  limbs  of  oak  and  hickory  and  maple, 
were  piled  high  and  had  become  fully  ablaze,  how  the 
flames  danced  and  went  roaring  up  the  wide  chimney ! 
How  the  great  mass  of  coals  glowed  upon  the  broad 
hearth !  What  pictures  were,  in  imagination,  painted, 
and  what  castles  were  built  among  them !  How  the 
very  music  of  the  forests,  like  that  hidden  in  old  Cre- 
monas,  came  out  of  the  burning  logs  and  limbs !  It 
would  have  been  pardonable,  almost,  if  our  Puritan 
ancestors  had  become  fire-worshippers. 

With  such  a  torrent  of  heated  air  rushing  up  the 
chimney,  and  no  weather-strips  on  doors  or  windows, 
there  was  a  pretty  strong  pull  upon  the  outside  air,  and 
it  came  in  with  such  force  sometimes  as  to  give  unpleas- 
ant sensations  of  cold  to  the  back  when  the  face  was 
hardly  able  to  bear  the  heat  in  front  of  it.  But  there 
was  health  and  good  cheer  around  those  old-time  fire- 
places. There  was  no  chance  for  foul  air  in  those  old 
living-rooms.  The  carbonic-acid  and  every  other  foul 
gas  had  to  go  up  the  chimney,  whether  it  would  or  not. 
Oxygen  was  plenty  and  fresh  all  the  time,  and  it  show- 
ed itself  in  the  glow  of  the  cheek  and  the  healthful 
sparkle  of  the  talk  as  the  family  sat  around  the  blazing 
fire.  Think  of  the  change  to  air-tight  stoves  and  weath- 
er-strips of  India-rubber — demons  of  darkness  and  death ! 
And  yet  our  country  people,  with  forests  all  around  them, 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— VENTILATION.  197 

elaborating  for  them,  by  the  subtle  chemistry  of  their 
leaves,  the  life-giving  oxygen,  and  offering  them  the 
amplest  supply  of  the  best  fuel  for  the  promotion  of 
health,  for  a  little  seeming  saving  of  present  expense 
and  trouble  have  shut  up  the  fireplaces  which  their 
fathers  built ;  have  drawn  the  carpet  over  and  hidden 
the  sacred  hearth -stone,  on  which  were  nurtured  the 
best  virtues  of  family  and  social  life ;  have  shut  out  the 
air  and  the  sunlight  of  heaven  from  their  houses ;  and 
sit,  sodden  in  mephitic  vapors,  over  their  close  stoves  or 
furnace-registers.  In  working  out  the  petty  problem  of 
saving  heat,  we  have  done  not  a  little  to  destroy  health. 
It  is  time  for  a  reform  in  this  matter.  It  is  time  that 
our  fires  were  so  managed  as  to  be  sources  of  health  as 
well  as  of  heat,  as  they  easily  may  be.  Better  add  ten 
or  twenty  dollars,  if  need  be,  to  the  cost  of  the  winter's 
fuel,  and  secure  the  positive  pleasure  and  benefit  of  the 
cheerful  open  fire  than  pay  twice  or  thrice  that  for  the 
services  of  the  doctor.  One  room  in  the  house  at  least 
ought  to  have  such  an  arrangement  for  the  health  and 
daily  enjoyment  of  the  household.  The  old  open  fire- 
place, or,  what  is  next  to  it,  the  Franklin  stove,  should 
be  in  every  house.  Then  every  chimney,  where  there 
are  no  such  open  fireplaces,  ought  to  have  a  ventilating- 
flue — a  part  of  the  chimney  separated  from  the  rest  by  a 
thin  partition  of  slate  or  some  other  like  material,  so 
that  the  heat  in  the  smoke-flue  will  be  readily  commu- 
nicated to  it,  and  cause  a  strong  upward  draught.  By 
means  of  openings  into  the  ventilating -flue  from  the 


198  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

rooms  adjacent  to  the  chimney,  a  healthful  change  of 
air  may  be  secured  at  all  times,  and  little  will  be  want- 
ing on  the  score  of  ventilation. 

We  are  not  accustomed  to  think  of  the  air  as  a  food ; 
but  the  highest  authorities  now  class  it  as  such.  And 
if  this  is  its  true  character,  then  who  can  fail  to  see  the 
importance  of  securing  this  in  its  purity  and  free  from 
all  contaminating  mixtures  ?  Moreover,  the  air  is  far 
from  being  uniform  in  its  quality.  It  varies  in  this  re- 
spect as  do  the  other  foods  which  we  use.  Hence  the 
need  of  daily,  constant  care,  in  order  that  we  may  ob- 
tain that  which  is  best.  There  is  all  the  more  need  of 
care,  also,  because  the  air  is  not  a  food  which  we  take 
only  occasionally,  a  few  times  daily,  or  for  which  we 
may  substitute  some  other  kind  of  food.  We  feed  upon 
this  constantly,  by  day  and  by  night,  when  we  wake  and 
when  we  sleep.  Nothing  can  take  its  place.  This  we 
must  have.  This  we  must  have  constantly,  and  of 
wholesome  quality,  or  we  perish. 

Where  is  the  chemist  or  philosopher  who  will  invent 
for  us  some  apparatus  which,  in  addition  to  the  ther- 
mometer, which  shows  us  the  temperature  of  the  atmos- 
phere, and  the  barometer,  which  gives  us  its  weight,  will 
show  us  at  a  glance  the  condition  of  the  atmosphere  in 
our  rooms  or  elsewhere  in  regard  to  purity  or  impurity  ? 
The  world  is  waiting  for  science  thus  to  come  to  the  aid 
of  practical  life.  Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that  we  shall 
not  have  to  wait  long  for  what  we  so  much  need? 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— THE  CARE  OF  THE  SICK.     199 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

SANITARY   ASPECTS    OF   COUNTRY   LIFE    (continued). — 
THE   CARE   OF   THE   SICK. 

"Life  hath  its  mission,  fit  for  all  and  each: 

It  may  be  thine  this  lesson  to  secure, 
What  angel-whispers  in  thy  sick-room  teach, 
'Learn  thou  to  wait  and  patiently  endure.'" 

MRS.  BARRETT. 

HAVING  spoken  of  drainage  and  ventilation  as  means 
of  promoting  health  and  guarding  against  the  prevent- 
able causes  of  disease,  it  may  be  in  place  now  to  say 
something  in  regard  to  the  treatment  of  those  who  be- 
come sick.  It  is  not  to  be  concealed  that  in  the  care  of 
the  sick  the  advantage  is,  at  present,  on  the  side  of  the 
city  or  town  as  compared  with  the  open  country.  In 
the  first  place,  as  to  physicians  and  medicines,  the  towns 
are  better  supplied  than  the  villages.  The  most  skilful 
physicians,  those  conversant  with  diseases  in  the  great- 
est variety  and  with  their  various  treatment,  are  natu- 
rally to  be  found  in  the  larger  places.  The  benefit  of 
their  united  wisdom  is  also  to  be  had  there  at  any  time, 
while  in  the  country  the  patient  is  often  at  an  inconven- 
ient distance  from  any  medical  help  whatever.  In  the 
case  of  severe  or  peculiar  disorders,  therefore,  the  pa 


200  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

tient  in  the  country  is  at  a  disadvantage  compared  with 
one  in  the  city.  The  poorest  sufferer  in  the  city  is  not 
far  from  a  hospital,  where  he  may  have  the  best  medical 
advice  combined  with  the  best  nursing  which  modern 
science  and  art  combined  can  give.  Indeed,  hardly  any- 
thing is  more  noteworthy  in  regard  to  our  city  life  than 
the  improvement  which  has  been  made  in  all  that  prop- 
erly constitutes  the  care  of  the  sick.  And  what  is  par- 
ticularly noticeable  is,  that  a  great  increase  of  attention 
has  been  given  to  the  nursing  of  the  sick,  in  distinction 
from  mere  medical  attendance. 

After  all,  the  former  is  of  more  importance  than  the 
latter.  Not  in  all  cases.  But  the  majority  of  our  ail- 
ments are  not  those  for  the  cure  of  which  we  are  de- 
pendent upon  the  scientific  or  professional  skill  of  the 
physician.  There  is  a  power  of  self-recovery  in  the  hu- 
man constitution  which  is  simply  wonderful.  The  vis 
medioatrix  naturae  is  the  greatest  power  which  we 
have  at  command  in  overcoming  the  assaults  of  disease. 
And-  it  is  often  astonishing  to  see  through  what  for- 
lorn conditions  and  desperate  straits  this  will  take  us. 

In  most  cases  of  disease  the  chief  thing  to  be  done  is 
to  let  this  latent  power  of  self  -  recovery  have  a  fair 
chance  to  act,  and  every  sensible  practitioner  is  ready 
to  recognize  in  a  good  nurse  his  most  effective  ally.  It 
is  the  lack  of  such  a  helper  that  the  physician  finds  the 
most  frequent  hindrance  to  his  own  success  in  the  treat- 
ment of  a  disease.  It  is  easy  enough,  for  the  most  part, 
to  see  what  is  the  appropriate  medicine  to  give,  and  to 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.-THE  CARE  OF  THE  SICK.      201 

have  it  given ;  but  that  it  shall  be  given  at  the  right  time 
and  in  the  right  way,  and  that  all  the  circumstances  of 
the  patient  shall  be  what  they  ought  to  be,  so  as  to  favor 
the  action  of  the  medicine  given,  and  facilitate  and  en- 
courage the  reactions  of  nature,  this  is  not  by  any  means 
easy  to  secure.  There  may  not  be  any  neglect,  in  one 
sense,  yet  in  another  there  may  be  the  greatest,  and  some- 
times the  most  fatal.  Many  sick  ones,  doubtless,  are  lit- 
erally killed  by  kindness.  Friends  must  be  doing  some- 
thing for  them,  and,  in  their  ignorance,  often  do  the 
wrong  thing.  They  must  be  doing  something,  when 
perhaps  the  thing  most  needed  is  that  they  should  just 
do  nothing,  but  give  the  patient  a  fair  chance  to  fight 
the  battle  with  disease  out  of  the  armament  which  his 
own  nature  has  given  him.  What  is  needed  most  com- 
monly is  that  we  shall  stand  out  of  the  way  and  let  nat- 
ure do  her  own  work.  If  we  will  only  stop  infringing 
her  laws,  and  our  friends  will  keep  from  their  infringe- 
ment to  our  harm,  it  will  be  quite  surprising  how  soon 
we  shall  ordinarily  get  the  better  of  our  ailments  and 
come  up  into  a  condition  of  health  again. 

We  have,  perhaps,  been  taking  too  much  food,  or  food 
of  an  improper  character.  The  system  has  been  burden- 
ed with  a  load  which  it  could  not  carry  and  go  on  with 
the  ordinary  functions  of  life.  We  have  been  long 
breathing  an  impure  and  noxious  atmosphere,  it  may  be, 
taking  in  for  food  (for  air  is  food  in  the  highest  sense) 
some  foul  gases,  and  these  have  poisoned  us.  Now, 
what  is  chiefly  wanted  is  that  we  should  stop  in  this 

O 


202  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

destructive  course  of  living,  give  the  wearied  body— 
the  digestive  organs  especially  —  rest  for  a  time,  and 
let  the  lungs  take  in  only  pure  air.     Not  a  grain  of 
medicine,  oftentimes,  will  be  needed. 

But  now  anxious  and  truly  loving  friends  will  be  very 
likely  to  come  in  with  all  sorts  of  herb  drinks  and  ap- 
plications ;  and  this  nice  thing  and  that  will  be  forced 
into  the  stomach,  when  the  faint  appetite  is  nature's 
own  indication  that  rest  for  the  digestive  organs,  and 
not  food,  is  what  is  needed.  And  then,  in  addition  to 
this  abuse,  the  patient  is  very  likely  to  be  shut  up  in 
some  small  room  at  the  best,  and,  as  though  this  were 
not  bad  enough,  every  door  and  window  will  be  kept 
closed  as  much  as  possible  for  fear  of  "  exposure  to  the 
air,"  as  it  is  called,  when  the  very  thing  wanted  above 
all  else  is  a  free  exposure  to  the  pure  air  of  heaven.  It 
is  simply  marvellous  to  one  who  goes  into  many  of  our 
sick-rooms  from  the  open  air,  and  scents  the  foul  atmos- 
phere in  which  the  sick  are  literally  imprisoned,  that 
they  ever  get  well  again.  It  is  astonishing,  also,  that  so 
many  of  our  physicians  allow  their  patients  to  be  kept 
in  such  an  atmosphere.  Whether  it  is  that  they  have 
not  yet  attained  proper  convictions  as  to  the  importance 
of  purity  of  atmosphere,  or  think  it  no  part  of  their 
function  to  look  to  this  in  the  treatment  of  their  pa- 
tients, there  ought  to  be  a  great  change  in  this  respect. 

When  sickness  comes,  especially  if  it  is  of  a  sort  in 
which  recovery  is  to  be  slow,  as  in  the  case  of  fevers 
and  many  nervous  disorders,  the  sick  one  should  have. 


SANITARY  ASPECTS.— THE   CARE  OF  THE  SICK.   203 

if  possible,  the  largest  and  pleasantest  room  in  the 
house.  Something  more  is  needed  than  just  space 
enough  for  a  bed  or  an  easy-chair.  Yet  how  often  is 
it  thought  that  this  is  all  that  is  necessary.  How  many 
of  our  good  and  kind  country  housekeepers  would  be 
ready  to  give  up  the  spare  bedroom  to  an  invalid  ? 
How  many  would  even  think  of  such  a  thing?  But 
the  confinement  of  the  sick-room  is  irksome  and  severe, 
at  the  best.  Think  of  the  change  from  the  freedom 
which  allowed  one  to  go  all  about  the  house  from  room 
to  room  at  pleasure  and  abroad  in  the  street,  to  the  se- 
clusion of  a  single  room.  Any  one  who  thinks  of  it,  or 
who  has  had  the  experience  of  severe  and  protracted 
illness,  will  feel  that  too  much  care  cannot  be  taken  to 
give  one  who  is  sick  a  room  of  ample  dimensions,  and 
as  pleasant  as  possible  in  all  respects.  It  should  not  be 
on  the  shady  side  of  the  house,  but  by  all  means  where 
the  sun  can  shine  into  it  freely.  The  sunlight  is  not 
only  pleasant  to  the  sight  and  cheering  to  the  spirits, 
and  thus  indirectly  beneficial,  but  it  is  in  itself  a  medi- 
cine in  the  strictest  sense.  Then  the  furniture  should 
be  pleasant ;  the  windows  should  have  an  agreeable 
drapery  ;  flowering  plants  should  lend  their  healthful 
presence,  and  the  walls  should  have  some  cheerful  pict- 
ures for  the  eyes  to  rest  upon.  In  the  time  of  health 
it  does  not  matter  so  much  by  what  objects  we  are  sur- 
rounded. We  are  busied  with  other  things,  to  a  great 
extent.  But  in  sickness  the  eye  and  the  mind  are  fill- 
ed with  the  things  nearest  us.  Every  chair  and  table, 


204  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

every  thread  in  the  carpet,  every  figure  and  line  on 
the  wall-paper,  is  known  and  noticed.  And  how  weary 
the  poor  invalid  often  is  with  the  sight  of  things  which 
are  uninteresting,  if  not  positively  disagreeable !  It  is  a 
great  relief,  sometimes,  simply  to  change  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  furniture  in  the  sick-room,  putting  the 
chairs  and  table  and  bed  in  new  positions.  It  breaks 
up  the  old  association  of  one  with  another  that  has  be- 
come so  wearisome.  It  is  like  going  into  another 
room. 

It  is  very  desirable  that  an  invalid's  room  should 
have  an  open  fireplace.  In  the  colder  seasons  of  the 
year,  this  is  especially  desirable  as  the  best  means  of 
securing  proper  ventilation.  But  there  is  hardly  a 
month  in  the  year  when  a  fire  will  not  be  servicea- 
ble to  the  invalid  by  its  pleasant  warmth.  And  then, 
apart  from  these  uses,  the  sight  of  the  blazing  fire  is 
almost  always  very  pleasant  to  the  ailing  one.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  cheerful  of  companions,  a  most  wel- 
come and  valuable  nurse  in  itself. 

One  of  the  simplest  and  best  contrivances  for  secur- 
ing the  admission  of  fresh  and  pure  air,  whether  into 
the  rooms  of  the  sick  or  the  well,  is  to  have  a  strip  of 
wood — as  long  as  the  window  is  wide,  and  from  one  to 
two  inches  in  thickness  —  placed  beneath  the  lower 
window -sash.  This  lifts  the  sash  just  far  enough  to 
admit  the  air  at  the  junction  of  the  two  sashes,  but 
in  such  a  way  that  no  draught  or  blast  is  felt,  even 
though  the  wind  may  be  blowing  freely.  This  may 


SANITARY   ASPECTS.— THE   CARE  OF   THE   SICK.    205 

be  a  permanent  fixture  of  the  window,  and  with  it, 
especially  in  connection  with  the  open  fireplace,  one 
is  sure  of  good  air  at  all  times,  and  without  any  harm- 
ful exposure  to  the  most  delicate  and  feeble.  One  has 
only  to  try  it  to  see  how  effective  is  this  simple  arrange- 
ment. 

As  we  are  coming  to  understand  better  the  impor- 
tance of  proper  care  or  nursing  of  the  sick  as  com- 
pared with  the  mere  administration  of  medicine,  it  be- 
comes apparent  that  we  need  to  make  some  provision 
for  the  training  of  nurses,  so  that  we  may  have  at  com- 
mand those  who  may  with  confidence  be  intrusted  with 
the  care  of  the  sick.  A  large  field  of  usefulness  is  open 
in  this  direction,  and  there  will  be  an  ample  demand  for 
those  who  will  qualify  themselves  for  this  work.  A  be- 
ginning has  been  made  by  the  establishment,  in  some 
of  our  cities,  of  training-schools  for  nurses.  But  it  is 
only  a  beginning.  One  of  the  great  wants  of  our 
country  villages  is  proper  care  for  the  sick.  You  may 
search  many  of  them  through  in  vain  to  find  a  nurse 
in  time  of  sickness,  one  who  is  at  once  competent  to 
have  the  charge  of  the  sick,  and  sufficiently  disengaged 
from  other  service  to  be  available  for  this. 

And  so  the  sick  are  left  to  the  haphazard  attention 
of  friends  and  neighbors  already  burdened  with  cares 
and  duties ;  and  while  there  may  be  abundance  of  kind 
feeling  on  their  part,  there  may  be  such  a  lack  of 
knowledge,  judgment,  tact,  and  proper  sensibility  that 
it  is  often  difficult  to  tell  whether  the  sick  one  is  bene- 


206  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

fited  by  it  all  or  not.  It  is  much  to  be  desired  that  in 
almost  every  village  there  could  be  two,  three,  or 
more  nurses,  trained  either  at  some  school  established 
for  this  purpose,  or  by  the  village  physician,  and  hav- 
ing such  knowledge  and  experience  that  they  could 
be  trusted  by  the  physicians  and  by  the  friends  of  the 
sick.  They  should  have  some  knowledge  of  physiolo- 
gy. They  should  have  an  intelligent  discernment  of 
symptoms.  They  ought  to  know  something  of  the  nat- 
ure and  working  of  medicines.  They  should  be  able  to 
comprehend  and  carry  out  the  wishes  of  the  physician 
in  charge.  And  then  they  should  have  such  an  intel- 
ligent and  appreciative  understanding  of  the  peculiari- 
ties and  wants  of  the  patients  intrusted  to  their  care, 
and  such  a  proper  sense  of  the  needs  of  the  sick,  that 
they  would  make  their  every  act,  and  every  thought 
even,  to  be  somehow  a  ministry  of  benefit  to  them. 
There  are  times  in  every  physician's  experience  when, 
if  he  could  put  such  a  nurse  in  charge  of  his  patient 
for  only  a  single  day,  he  would  feel  confident  of  his 
passing  the  critical  point  and  beginning  his  recovery 
of  health ;  whereas,  for  want  of  ability  to  do  so,  he  is 
obliged  to  see  the  life  go  out,  notwithstanding  his  own 
skill  and  all  the  care  and  ministry  of  loving  friends. 


CEMETERIES.  207 


CHAPTEK  XIX. 

CEMETERIES. 

"The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour. 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 

GRAY. 

A  RESPECTFUL  regard  for  the  bodies  of  the  dead  seems 
to  be  characteristic  of  mankind  everywhere  and  in  all 
ages.  The  first  use  of  money,  so  far  as  we  know,  was 
for  the  purpose  of  a  burial,  and  the  first  purchase  of 
land  was  that  of  a  cemetery.  Whether  the  final  dis- 
posal of  the  dead  bodies  of  friends  is  by  burial  or  burn- 
ing, whether  by  mummification,  as  among  the  ancient 
Egyptians,  or  by  exposure  upon  stages  or  shelves  in  the 
open  air,  as  practised  by  some  Indian  tribes,  each  and 
all  of  these  methods  of  treatment  spring  from  the  same 
common  feeling  of  respect  for  the  departed,  which  evi- 
dences itself  in  a  care  for  the  bodies  which  the  depart- 
ed once  inhabited. 

Burial  has  been  by  far  the  most  common  method  of 
treating  the  remains  of  the  dead.  The  ancient  lands  of 
Assyria  and  Egypt  show  us  the  remains  of  vast  burial- 
places — cities  of  the  dead,  as  it  were,  removed  from,  yet 


208  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

near  by,  the  cities  of  the  living.  And  if  the  Pyramids 
of  the  Nile  were  constructed  for  the  burial-place  of  the 
Egyptian  kings,  then  no  palaces  of  kings  in  their  life- 
time have  equalled  in  grandeur  the  resting-places  of 
their  bodies  when  dead. 

Among  the  most  impressive  items  of  early  history  as 
given  us  in  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures  is  that  inter- 
view of  Abraham  with  Ephron,  when  the  former  pur- 
chased of  the  latter  the  cave  of  Machpelah  for  a  burial- 
place,  and  then,  by  the  interment  of  his  beloved  Sarah, 
consecrated  it  as  a  family  burying-ground.  And  what 
a  scene  was  that  when,  years  afterwards,  the  vice-regal 
Joseph  led  that  grand  funeral  procession,  composed  of 
his  brethren  and  the  high  dignitaries  of  Pharaoh,  as 
they  went  up  from  Egypt  to  lay  the  body  of  Jacob 
in  that  same  rural  cemetery  of  Machpelah !  The 
world  has  seen  few  sights  as  imposing  as  that. 

But  all  along  the  course  of  human  history,  from  age 
to  age  and  from  nation  to  nation,  we  find  the  ceme- 
teries and  monuments  of  the  dead  holding  a  conspicu- 
ous place,  and  cherished  with  the  greatest  respect. 
From  the  early  days  of  Christianity  the  custom  has 
prevailed  of  burying  the  dead  in  the  immediate  vicin- 
ity of  churches.  For  a  long  time  the  "God's  acre," 
as  the  English  people  call  it  (the  plot  around  the  church 
thickly  studded  with  headstones),  has  been  a  familiar 
sight.  Considered  in  a  purely  religious  aspect,  it  was 
fitting  that  the  bodies  of  Christian  believers  should 
be  laid  down  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the 


CEMETERIES.  209 

church,  the  ever-present  symbol  of  the  believer's  faith. 
The  Christian  idea  of  death  is  pre-eminently  that  of 
sleep — a  sleep  from  which  one  is  soon  to  awake  to  a 
higher  realization  than  he  ever  had  before  of  the  glori- 
ous and  eternal  verities  of  his  faith.  It  was  fit  that  the 
body,  whether  to  be  literally  raised  or  not,  should  pass 
its  brief  sleep  close  by  the  place  where  those  verities 
had  been  so  constantly  proclaimed,  and  that  burial- 
places  should  take  the  name  of  cemeteries,  or  sleeping- 
places.  But  in  a  sanitary  point  of  view  and  aesthetical- 
ly considered,  the  custom  was  objectionable,  and  on  the 
former  account  interments  within  cities  and  within  and 
around  churches  have  come  to  be  more  and  more  for- 
bidden by  law,  while  good  taste  has  chosen  to  make  its 
burial-places  where  they  can  be  rendered  more  pleasant 
in  themselves  than  is  possible  within  the  limited  space 
that  can  be  given  to  them  in  the  crowded  area  of  the 
city  or  in  the  narrow  bounds  of  the  churchyard.  Ac- 
cordingly, there  have  sprung  up  in  the  vicinity  of  our 
cities  and  large  towns,  within  the  last  thirty  or  forty 
years,  many  cemeteries  or  burial-places  which  have 
combined,  writh  proper  respect  for  the  dead,  a  beauty 
and  tastefulness  in  themselves  which  have  given  them 
a  character  of  their  own  and  made  them  objects  of 
general  attractiveness.  They  have  served  to  remove 
some  of  the  repulsive  associations  of  death,  to  bring 
the  living  into  pleasant  communion  with  the  departed, 
and  to  link  the  present  life  attractively  to  the  life  be- 
yond. Vanity  and  pride  will  sometimes  reveal  them- 


210  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

selves  in  the  elaborate  and  overwrought  monuments 
erected  over  the  dead,  as  where  will  not  vanity  and 
pride  lift  up  their  foolish  heads  ?  But,  on  the  whole, 
the  tone  of  these  cemeteries  is  subdued  and  at  the  same 
time  tasteful,  and  the  impressions  which  they  tend  to 
make  upon  those  who  visit  them  are  of  a  healthful 
character.  Mount  Auburn,  near  Boston,  and  Green- 
wood, near  New  York,  are  types  of  what,  with  only 
minor  differences  in  extent  and  style  of  development, 
may  be  found  near  a  large  number  of  our  cities  and 
most  populous  towns. 

And  the  country  villages  are  beginning  to  ask  why 
they  may  not  have  something  approximately  like  these, 
and  some  have  answered  the  question  in  a  very  satis- 
factory way.  The  old  square  or  rectangular  plot  of 
ground,  chosen  for  convenience  of  access  and  the  ease 
with  which  its  friable  soil  could  be  excavated  and  laid 
out,  garden-like,  with  its  stiff,  straight  rows  of  human 
bodies,  crowded  together  as  though  land  in  the  country 
were  too  precious  to  be  wasted  even  for  affection's 
sake,  is  giving  way  to  something  better  and  altogeth- 
er more  pleasant.  The  level,  rectangular,  monotonous, 
and  crowded  burial-place  is  exchanged  for  one  ampler 
in  extent,  and  having  varying  contours  of  lines  sweep- 
ing in  different  directions,  and  offering  pleasing  sur- 
faces and  attractive  views  to  the  eye  continually. 

There  is  often  no  better  place  to  begin  the  work  of 
improving  the  outward  aspect  of  a  country  village  than 
the  cemetery.  It  has  this  advantage  as  a  starting-point, 


CEMETERIES.  211 

that  it  is  something  in  which  all  are  interested.  A 
good  deal  is  thus  gained  at  once  for  village  improve- 
ment, by  having  something  proposed  or  undertaken  in 
which  all  can  be  enlisted.  If  you  propose  at  first  a 
road,  or  a  park,  or  an  aqueduct,  you  are  apt  to  have  a 
minority  against  you,  because,  perhaps,  the  road  or  the 
park  is  not  to  be  in  their  immediate  vicinity.  But  the 
cemetery  is  equally  for  all ;  and  if  any  are  not  moved  to 
activity  in  the  work  of  improving  an  existing  burying- 
place  or  providing  a  new  one,  you  have,  at  least,  their 
acquiescence.  Opposition,  if  it  comes  at  all,  can  only 
come  as  against  methods  and  plans,  not  against  the  ob- 
ject itself.  If  the  existing  cemetery  is  in  a  neglected 
condition,  a  strong  appeal  can  be  made  to  all  through 
their  respect  for  departed  friends.  Perhaps  there  is 
only  a  rude  wall  around  the  enclosure,  which  in  process 
of  time  has  been  thrown  down  in  different  places,  so 
that  the  cattle  have  free  access  and  pasture  at  will  on 
the  sacred  graves  of  ancestors.  Or  the  headstones  have 
been  tilted  by  the  frost  or  have  been  broken  down. 
Or  the  paths  have  become  overgrown,  and  the  whole 
place  is  the  home  of  wild  weeds.  It  will  not  be  diffi- 
cult, in  such  cases,  to  make  an  effective  appeal  which 
will  enlist  the  entire  community  in  the  work  of  im- 
provement. And  then,  having  thus  fortunately  got 
the  great  mass  moving  together  for  one  desirable  ob- 
ject, it  will  be  comparatively  easy  to  enlist  them  in  a 
combined  movement  for  some  other  good  end. 

The  very  fact  of  their  having  acted  together  once 


212  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE   LIFE. 

prepares  them  to  act  together  again.  They  feel  the 
pleasure  which  always  comes  from  fellowship  and  co- 
operation. Having  done  one  good  thing,  and  being 
able  to  see  what  they  have  accomplished,  they  will 
even  be  eager  to  set  about  something  else.  Perhaps 
the  desirableness  of  good  roads  and  footpaths  will  be 
suggested,  or  the  planting  of  trees  along  the  village 
streets,  or  a  park  or  fountain  may  be  spoken  of  as  cal- 
culated to  improve  the  appearance  of  the  village ;  and 
so  one  thing  may  easily  and  naturally  lead  on  to  anoth- 
er, till  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  the  whole  appear- 
ance of  the  place  may  be  changed  for  the  better.  And 
then  it  will  be  found  that  not  only  has  the  outward 
aspect  of  the  place  where  they  live  been  improved,  but, 
what  is  best  of  all,  the  villagers  themselves  have  been 
greatly  changed  and  improved  by  this  coming  together 
and  working  together  for  common  and  worthy  pur- 
poses. What  intermingling  of  thoughts  and  feelings 
has  it  produced  !  What  a  breaking  -  down  of  barriers 
of  distance  or  of  timidity  has  it  occasioned !  How  this 
gentle  attrition  of  society  has  rounded  ofE  the  sharp 
edges  of  asperities,  and  smoothed  away  many  an  un- 
couthness !  How  this  intermingling  has  removed  shy- 
ness, and  encouraged  confidence,  and  promoted  true 
knowledge  of  one  another!  And  so  there  has  been 
going  on  continually  an  improvement  of  society,  which 
is  the  highest  and  most  valuable  sort  of  village  im- 
provement. 

In  regard  to  the  subject  of  cemeteries  much  might  be 


CEMETERIES.  213 

said,  but  in  a  place  like  this  only  certain  hints  can  be 
given.  A  difficulty  in  many  of  our  country  towns 
may  arise  from  the  fact  that  there  are  several  places 
of  burial,  perhaps  as  many  as  half  a  dozen  in  some 
towns.  This  may  have  come  from  the  fact  that  the 
people  are  settled  somewhat  in  clusters  instead  of  being 
distributed  evenly  throughout  the  town  limits,  or  it 
may  be  the  result  of  local  and  family  feeling  in  the  ab- 
sence of  any  common  feeling  and  interest.  The  conse- 
quence often  is  that  none  of  these  places  of  burial  are 
properly  cared  for ;  and  because  the  interest  of  the 
people  in  them  is  so  divided,  it  is  not  easy  to  arouse 
the  feeling  needful  to  bring  them  all  into  fitting  con- 
dition. It  may  be  difficult  to  decide  in  such  cases  just 
what  to  do.  It  may  be  best  to  endeavor  to  concentrate 
interest  upon  a  single  one,  protecting  the  others  from 
utter  neglect,  but  seeking  to  make  the  one  as  pleasant 
and  attractive  as  possible.  Or  it  may,  perhaps,  be  best 
to  abandon  all  and  lay  out  a  new  one.  In  such  a  case 
the  old  ones  should  be  suitably  protected  by  fences  or 
walls,  and  family  affection  may  be  relied  on  to  some 
extent  to  see  that  no  injuries  or  depredations  are  com- 
mitted. 

In  laying  out  a  new  cemetery,  care  should  be  taken, 
not  only  to  secure  a  pleasant  site,  but  a  sufficient  extent 
of  ground.  Most  of  our  rural  cemeteries  are  mere  gar- 
den-plots for  size,  and  consequently  cannot  be  made  ob- 
jects of  beauty.  If  trees  are  planted,  they  soon  over- 
grow the  whole  space,  and  make  it  gloomy  and  for- 


214  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE   LIFE. 

bidding  as  well  as  very  inconvenient.  It  is  hardly  pos- 
sible to  get  any  pleasant  landscape  effect  on  less  than 
ten  acres  of  ground.  This  amount,  therefore,  should 
be  secured,  and,  if  possible,  where  future  enlargement 
will  be  practicable.  Of  course,  land  having  an  undulat- 
ing surface  should  be  chosen.  Then  the  paths  and 
burial-lots  should  be  laid  out  somewhat  in  conformity 
with  the  natural  shape  and  sweep  of  the  ground,  and 
by  no  means  in  straight  lines.  Human  beings  should 
not  be  buried  by  square  feet  and  inches.  The  separate 
burial-plots  should  be  of  unequal  size,  adapted  to  the 
uses  of  families  unequal  in  numbers ;  but  all  should  be 
large  enough  to  allow  the  planting  of  trees  and  shrubs 
without  having  them  seem  crowded  or  becoming  an  in- 
terference with  the  pleasantness  of  the  place.  In  short, 
the  cemetery  should  be  laid  out  on  such  a  broad  scale 
as  to  secure  something  of  a  park-like  effect.  If  water 
is  at  command,  let  it  be  made  to  play  here  and  there  in 
fountains,  with  their  pensive,  soothing  music.  Let 
bright,  blossoming  shrubs  and  plants  enliven  the  dark 
and  sombre  tone  of  the  evergreens  which  are  appro- 
priately planted  in  such  places.  An  evergreen  hedge 
may  properly  enclose  the  whole.  And  so,  by  all  that 
art  and  taste  can  do,  let  our  burial-places  be  made 
pleasant  places  of  resort,  moving  to  quiet  meditation, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  hopeful  trust  and  heavenly  as- 
pirations. 

A  most  valuable  appendage  of  a  rural  cemetery,  of 
any  cemetery,  is  a  receiving-tomb  or  vault,  where  the 


CEMETERIES.  215 

bodies  of  the  dead  may  be  temporarily  deposited,  when 
for  any  reason  immediate  burial  is  not  desirable  or  not 
practicable.  As  they  have  commonly  been  conducted, 
funerals  in  the  country  have  frequently  been  attended 
by  great  inconveniences  and  unnecessary  exposures  of 
health.  Often  the  company  gathered  at  the  house 
where  the  funeral  services  are  held  is  so  large  that  the 
doors  are  obliged  to  be  held  open,  and  through  them,  if 
the  weather  is  cold  or  stormy,  come  blasts  of  air  which 
are  the  fruitful  causes  of  colds,  if  not  of  more  serious 
maladies.  Then  often  follows  another  and  even  worse 
exposure  at  the  grave,  where  sometimes  there  is  a  sec- 
ond service  of  a  somewhat  protracted  character.  How 
much  better  would  it  be  if,  except  in  pleasant  weather, 
this  second  service  were  dispensed  with,  and  the  body 
were  quietly  taken  by  a  few  friends  and  deposited  in  a 
receiving-tomb,  to  be  taken  thence  for  final  burial  at  a 
convenient  and  pleasant  season.  There  is  no  sufficient 
call  of  duty  which  requires  us,  out  of  respect  for  de- 
parted friends,  to  expose  life  and  health  in  a  country 
cemetery  in  a  northern  winter.  To  do  so  is  little  less 
than  an  act  of  barbarism.  We  can  show  our  respect 
for  the  dead  and  our  sympathy  with  the  living  in  other 
ways  than  by  facing  tempests  in  order  to  effect  a  hasty 
burial.  And  now  that  we  have  come  to  feel  that  our 
burial-places  should  be  made  tasteful  in  appearance,  is 
it  not  time  that  our  burial-services  should  lose  some  of 
their  harsh  and  even  harmful  features,  and  be  brought 
more  into  keeping  with  the  cheerful,  hopeful  spirit  of 


216  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

that  Christianity  which  teaches  us  that  death  is  only  a 
sleep  preparatory  to  a  glorious  awakening  and  a  never- 
ending  life  to  come  ? 

"Secure  from  every  mortal  care, 

By  sin  and  sorrow  vexed  no  more, 
Eternal  happiness  they  share 

Who  are  not  lost,  but  gone  before." 


ROADS  AND  BRIDGES.  217 


CHAPTER  XX. 

KOAD8    AND    BRIDGES. 

"The  road  is  that  physical  sign,  or  symbol,  by  which  you  will  best  un- 
derstand any  age  or  people.  If  they  have  no  roads,  they  are  savages ;  for 
the  road  is  the  creation  of  man  and  a  type  of  civilized  society.  .  .  . 

"Jf  you  wish  to  know  whether  society  is  stagnant,  learning  scholastic, 
religion  a  dead  formality,  you  may  learn  something  by  going  into  universi- 
ties and  libraries;  something,  also,  by  the  work  that  is  doing  on  cathedrals 
and  churches,  or  in  them ;  but  quite  as  much  by  looking  at  the  roads. 
For  if  there  is  any  motion  in  society,  the  road,  which  is  the  symbol  of 
motion,  will  indicate  the  fact.  .  .  . 

"Nothing  makes  an  inroad  without  making  a  road.  All  creative  ac- 
tion, whether  in  government,  industry,  thought,  or  religion,  creates  roads." 
— BDSHNELL. 

"Ever}' judicious  improvement  in  the  establishment  of  roads  and  bridges 
increases  the  value  of  land,  enhances  the  price  of  commodities,  and  aug- 
ments the  public  wealth." — DK  WITT  CLINTON. 

THE  legislatures  of  our  states  are  not  more  certain 
to  assemble  at  the  designated  time  than  they  are  to  ap- 
point among  their  standing  committees  one  on  "  Roads 
and  Bridges."  This  indicates  the  important  place 
which  these  are  recognized  as  having  in  our  practical 
and  social  life.  They  are  at  the  same  time  the  signs 
and  the  instruments  of  our  civilization.  Without  them 
we  should  be  barbarians.  There  could  be  no  advance- 
ment in  the  arts,  no  advancement  in  culture;  and  so 

P 


218  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

the  quality  of  our  roads  indicates  very  well  the  progress 
we  have  made  in  civilization,  in  culture,  in  refinement. 

Roads  and  bridges — for  the  latter  are  strictly  roads, 
and  best  considered  as  such — are,  in  their  essential  char- 
acter, means  of  communication  between  mankind,  in- 
struments by  which  man  comes  in  contact  with  his  fel- 
low-man, and  so  produces,  or  enlarges  and  improves,  so- 
ciety. In  the  rudest  and  most  primitive  stages  of  so- 
ciety, a  simple  footpath  like  the  Indian  trail  is  all,  per- 
haps, that  is  necessary.  But  as  intercourse  increases  the 
desire  of  intercourse,  and  there  arises  a  disposition  or  a 
need  for  the  exchange  of  commodities,  the  trail  or  the 
bridle-path  will  gradually  give  place  to  something  bet- 
ter ;  and  so  as  the  lines  of  intercommunication  lengthen, 
and  the  demands  of  trade  and  commerce  increase,  and 
culture  advances,  the  roadways  will  necessarily  be  im- 
proved. The  wheels  of  transit,  instead  of  being  left  to 
roll  over  the  ground  at  each  one's  convenience  or  incon- 
venience, will  have  a  definite  path  provided  for  them  by 
a  common  agreement  of  those  in  the  vicinage.  Then 
the  larger  public  composing  a  state  or  municipality  will 
recognize  the  general  interest  of  all  in  the  roads;  and, 
as  a  consequence,  laws  will  be  enacted  to  regulate  their 
construction  and  use.  This  will  result  in  securing  a 
certain  uniformity  and  excellence  in  the  roads.  And 
yet  there  will  still  be  room  left  for  each  particular  coun- 
try or  province  to  go  beyond  the  mere  requisitions  of 
the  statute  or  of  usage,  and  bring  its  roads  up  in  quali- 
ty to  the  demands  of  highest  usefulness ;  as  when  some 


ROADS  AND  BRIDGES.  219 

Rome,  in  the  glory  of  its  universal  power,  and  as  a 
means  of  preserving  that  power,  stretches  out  its  high- 
ways of  stone  to  Scotland  on  the  north,  and  to  Asia 
Minor  and  Spain  on  the  east  and  west — roads  that  have 
outlasted  the  empire  which  constructed  them,  and  are 
the  wonder  of  our  day,  unexcelled,  as  they  are,  even  by 
our  boasted  Telford  or  Mac-Adam  roads. 

That  there  is  abundant  room  for  the  improvement  of 
our  village  roads  no  one  can  doubt.  Comparatively  few 
of  them  meet  the  demands  of  the  time.  Most  of  them 
are  even  a  shame  to  our  civilization.  The  more  press- 
ing necessities  of  life  in  a  new  country,  the  sparseness 
of  our  population,  the  great  spaces  to  be  traversed,  and 
the  scanty  capital  available  for  the  construction  of  good 
roads,  have  been  an  excuse  for  our  past  neglects  in  this 
direction.  But  the  time  has  come  when  these  excuses 
are  no  longer  valid.  Instead  of  being  content  with  the 
poor  roads  to  which  we  have  been  accustomed,  it  is  time 
for  us  to  make  them  what  they  ought  to  be.  We  can- 
not, indeed,  expect  the  best  macadamized  roads  to  be 
constructed  in  our  sparsely  settled  villages;  but  our 
main  country  thoroughfares  certainly  ought  to  be  far 
better  than  they  now  are,  and  many  of  the  minor  roads 
might  be  greatly  improved,  and  with  manifest  pecuni- 
ary advantage  as  well  as  with  gain  in  other  respects. 

Frequently  the  location  of  our  country  roads  is  bad ; 
and  it  would  be  the  plainest  economy  to  abandon  many 
of  them  and  construct  others  in  their  place,  rather  than 
continue  to  use  them.  Many  of  our  roads  have  been 


220 


VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


laid  out  carelessly,  and  almost  by  accident.  Old  foot  or 
bridle  paths  have  often  grown  into  carriage-roads.  In 
cases  not  a  few,  a  road  has  been  laid  directly  over  a  hill 
or  through  a  swamp,  when  it  might  as  easily  have  been 
made  to  pass  around  such  an  obstacle ;  or  it  has  been 
carried  over  a  hill  at  a  very  steep  incline,  when,  by  a 
little  care,  it  might  have  surmounted  it  by  a  more  easy 
slope.  The  mechanical  laws  affecting  transportation 
were  imperfectly  understood  until  recently,  except  by 
comparatively  few.  The  effects  of  friction  and  gravity 
upon  the  traction  of  loads,  both  on  levels  and  inclines, 
have  been  little  taken  into  account  in  the  construction 
of  our  roads.  Our  railway  building  has  taught  us  some 
important  lessons  in  regard  to  the  grading  and  construc- 
tion of  common  roads.  We  have  learned,  among  other 
things,  that  any  but  a  very  moderate  grade  obliges  us 
either  to  lighten  our  loads  or  to  move  them  at  the  ex- 
pense of  a  great  strain  upon  our  vehicles  and  the  beasts 
that  draw  them.  Experiments  of  the  most  thorough 
character,  made  in  England  and  France,  give  us  the 
following  conclusions  on  this  subject.  Calling  the  load 
which  a  horse  can  draw  on  a  level  100, 


•ise  of  1   i 

n  100  he  can  di 

aw  only  90  per  < 

1 

50             •  •  " 

81 

1 

44                 « 

75 

1 

40                  ' 

72 

1 

30                 • 

64 

1 

26                 • 

54 

1 

24                 « 

50 

1 

20                  « 

40 

1 

10                  < 

25 

ROADS  AND   BRIDGES.  221 

On  a  slope  of  120  feet  to  the  mile,  a  horse  can  draw 
only  three  fourths  as  much  as  on  a  level.  On  a  slope 
of  220  to  the  mile  he  can  draw  only  one  half  what 
he  can  on  a  level ;  and  on  a  slope  of  528  feet  to  the 
mile,  only  one  fourth  as  much.  This  latter  slope  is 
that  of  one  foot  in  ten ;  and  if  we  take  a  board,  for 
instance,  and  set  it  at  that  angle  to  represent  the  in- 
cline of  a  road,  it  will  seem  a  hill  of  easy  ascent, 
whereas  it  is  really  quite  steep.  Many  of  our  roads 
have  a  much  sharper  pitch  than  that.  We  are  able  to 
surmount  them  after  a  fashion,  but  it  is  at  the  expense 
of  a  great  strain  upon  our  animals  and  vehicles,  and 
with  much  useless  expenditure  of  power.  For  very 
short  distances  we  can  avail  ourselves  of  what  may  be 
called  the  reserve  force  of  our  horses  and  other  draught 
animals;  and,  by  stimulating  them  to  the  utmost,  we 
can  draw  considerable  loads  up  quite  steep  ascents. 
But  these  must  be  very  short,  so  that  the  team  can 
soon  reach  a  level  and  rest.  And  even  on  short  ascents, 
how  frequent  is  the  sight  of  the  poor  animals  straining 
themselves  to  the  utmost,  and  then  not  being  able  to 
accomplish  the  work  to  which  they  have  been  put, 
but  falling  victims  to  the  heavy  load  behind  them,  and 
dragged  back  by  it,  despite  all  the  shouts  and  blows, 
perhaps,  of  a  cruel  driver  who  has  no  mercy  upon  his 
beasts.  How  frequent  is  the  sight  of  loads  stuck  fast 
upon  some  ascent,  the  strength  of  the  animals  attached 
to  them  completely  exhausted,  and  no  possibility  of 
moving  the  loads  onward  until  additional  men  and  ani- 


222  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

mals  are  brought  to  the  spot  at  considerable  expense  of 
time  and  money.  How  often  do  we  see  parts  of  loads 
lying  by  the  roadside  as  proofs  of  the  unavailing 
strength  of  teams  to  surmount  the  neighboring  grade 
until  a  portion  of  their  load  has  been  thrown  off !  The 
strength  of  a  chain  is  proverbially  equal  only  to  its 
weakest  part.  So  the  weak  part  of  a  road  is  a  hill.  If 
we  have  a  road  ten  miles  in  length,  and  there  is  only 
one  hill  of  any  steepness  in  its  course,  we  can  draw  over 
the  level  part  of  the  road  only  such  a  weight  as  we  can 
draw  up  the  hill.  The  amount  that  can  be  drawn  up 
the  hill  is  the  measure  of  available  power  for  the  entire 
road.  Nine  tenths  of  the  road — ninety-nine  hundredths 
of  it,  perhaps — may  be  level  and  smooth  almost  as  a 
railway,  so  that  one  horse  might  draw  ten  tons  upon  it ; 
but  a  steep  incline  upon  the  remaining  one  hundredth 
part  of  it  may  practically  limit  the  loads  to  be  drawn 
over  the  road  to  a  weight  little  more  than  that  of  the 
vehicles  themselves.  There  has  been — there  is — a  great 
overlooking  of  this  stern  fact.  There  is  an  enormous 
waste  of  time  and  strength,  and  of  vehicles,  in  our  coun- 
try for  want  of  a  proper  construction  of  roads  as  to 
grades  as  well  as  in  other  respects.  In  many  cases,  a 
road  which  goes  over  a  hill  might  have  gone  around  it 
without  being  any  longer.  And  even  if  a  road  around 
a  hill  were  necessarily  longer  than  one  going  over  it, 
it  has  been  proved  by  the  most  careful  investigations 
that  a  road  may  profitably  avoid  an  ascent,  even  when 
it  has  to  go  twenty  times  the  height  of  the  ascent  in 


ROADS  AND  BRIDGES.  223 

order  to  get  around  it.  Let  it  only  be  remembered  that 
where  there  is  a  grade  of  one  foot  in  twenty  extending 
for  any  considerable  distance,  it  requires  two  horses  to 
draw  the  load  which  one  could  draw  upon  a  level  road ; 
and  that  it  practically  doubles  the  number  of  horses  or 
cattle  needed  to  do  the  work  of  the  region  where  that 
ascent  has  to  be  frequently  passed,  and  we  may,  per- 
haps, get  some  impression  of  the  loss  incident  to  the 
improper  grading  of  many  of  our  roads.  It  is  a  most 
silly  and  short-sighted  feeling,  also,  which  will  sacrifice 
the  grade  of  a  road  to  its  straightness,  as  is  sometimes 
done,  as  though  straightness  were  the  highest  excellence 
of  a  road.  The  grade  is  the  first  thing  to  be  considered. 
The  weight  of  load  to  be  carried  over  a  road,  and  the 
speed  with  which  it  can  be  carried,  both  depend  upon  this 
more  than  upon  anything  else ;  though,  of  course,  other 
things  being  equal,  straightness  or  directness  is  desirable. 
Says  Professor  Gillespie,  in  his  admirable  treatise  upon 
roads — a  work  which  ought  to  belong  to  every  town  li- 
brary, not  to  say  to  every  road-maker — "  Eoads  should 
be  so  located  and  constructed  as  to  enable  burdens  of 
goods  and  of  passengers  to  be  transported  from  one 
place  to  another  in  the  least  possible  time,  with  the  least 
possible  labor,  and  consequently  with  the  least  possible 
expense."  This  should  be  taken  as  an  axiom  on  the  sub- 
ject. Only  a  little  calculation,  also,  would  show  that  it 
is  the  truest  economy  to  make  large  expenditures,  if 
necessary,  in  order  to  secure  for  our  roads  as  little  de- 
viation from  a  level  direction  as  is  consistent  with  the 


224  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

proper  drainage  of  water  from  them.  For  this  purpose 
English  engineers  allow  a  slope  of  one  foot  in  eighty, 
and  the  French  that  of  one  in  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five,  or  forty-two  feet  to  the  mile. 

Grade  being  properly  regarded,  the  next  thing  to  be 
considered  is  the  material  of  which  the  road  is  con- 
structed. And  here  again  we  are  often  greatly  at  fault. 
On  a  well-made  road  of  broken  stone,  smooth  and  hard, 
a  horse  can  draw  three  times  as  much  as  on  a  road  made 
of  gravel,  and  ten  times  as  much  as  upon  many  of  our 
roads.  As  a  matter  of  economy,  therefore,  we  ought  to 
aim  to  secure  roads  as  nearly  as  possible  of  this  quality. 
Two  thirds  of  the  expense  of  transportation  may  often 
in  this  way  be  saved,  to  say  nothing  of  the  increased 
pleasure  of  travelling  where  roads  are  of  this  character. 
Yet  what  roads  do  we  content  ourselves  with  ?  Rather, 
what  roads  do  we  tolerate  ?  Often  they  are  little  more 
than  pathways  over  fields  or  through  sand,  or  they  are 
rough  and  uneven,  abounding  in  loose  stones  and  deep 
holes  and  ruts,  covering  the  traveller  now  with  dust  and 
now  with  mud — according  as  the  weather  is  dry  or  wet 
— and  threatening  him  and  his  vehicle  not  unfrequently 
with  wreck.  If  there  is  any  attempt  at  what  might  be 
called  making  a  road,  it  is  usually  thought  sufficient  to 
scrape  up  the  surface  soil,  be  it  sand  or  loam  or  clay, 
with  whatever  stones  may  accompany  such  materials; 
and,  having  rounded  it  up  a  little  in  the  middle,  leave  it 
to  the  wear  and  tear  of  vehicles  until  it  becomes  so  bad 
that  it  can  be  endured  no  longer,  when  the  selectmen 


ROADS  AND   BRIDGES.  225 

or  sundry  other  citizens  proceed  to  "mend  the  road," 
as  it  is  termed,  which  means  that  they  scrape  back  into 
the  centre  of  the  road  the  material  which  the  passing 
vehicles,  aided  by  the  rains,  have  pushed  off  upon 
the  sides,  and  finish  up  the  business  by  taking  a  quan- 
tity of  soil  from  near  the  adjacent  fences  and  applying 
it  as  a  sort  of  top-dressing.  The  result  is,  for  a  time, 
a  worse  road  than  before,  and  then  a  gradual  decline 
from  a  passable  condition  to  one  that  is  unsafe  and 
intolerable,  when  the  "  mending"  process  is  renewed. 

One  of  the  most  important  requisites  for  a  good  road 
is,  that  it  shall  be  kept  dry ;  that  no  water  shall  flow 
upon  it  from  the  bordering  lands,  and  that  the  rain  which 
falls  upon  it  shall  quickly  pass  off.  For  this  purpose, 
it  is  very  important  that  the  road  should  be  higher  than 
the  adjacent  land  through  which  it  passes,  and  that 
there  should  be  ditches  on  either  side  of  it  of  sufficient 
depth  to  carry  away  all  water  that  might  penetrate  the 
road  from  springs  beneath  it,  or  which  might  fall  upon 
it,  as  rain  or  snow,  from  above.  These  side -ditches 
should  also  have  such  a  slope  as  to  carry  off  at  once  the 
water  that  flows  into  them.  No  standing  water  should 
be  allowed  by  a  roadside. 

Proper  drainage  having  been  secured,  the  endeavor 
should  be  made  to  construct  as  smooth  and  hard  a  road 
as  possible ;  for  this  economizes  labor  in  the  transporta- 
tion of  goods  or  passengers,  and  at  the  same  time  makes 
travel  pleasant.  Such  a  road  is  also  kept  in  repair  at 
less  cost  than  a  poorer  road.  The  best  material  with 


226  VILLAGES   AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

which  to  construct  roads  is  broken  stone.  What  is 
known  as  trap-rock  is  the  best,  being  at  the  same  time 
the  hardest  and  toughest  of  our  rocks,  and  breaking 
into  angular  fragments,  which  pack  well  together. 
"When  this  stone  is  not  to  be  had,  a  softer  may  be  used ; 
and  we  are  persuaded  that  it  would  be  the  truest  econ- 
omy for  our  villages  to  make  their  main  roads  of  stone, 
even  when  it  has  to  be  drawn  a  considerable  distance. 
The  expense  at  first  might  seem  large,  but  roads  once 
made  in  this  way  would  be  durable  and  require  but  lit- 
tle outlay  to  keep  them  in  repair.  The  construction  of 
such  roads  might  also  be  made  so  gradual  that  the  ex- 
pense would  not  be  burdensome.  Let  a  village  begin 
with  a  small  section  of  road — that  most  travelled,  for 
instance — and  make  that  of  proper  material  and  in  the 
best  manner  first ;  then  let  another  section  be  taken  in 
hand  the  next  year,  and  so  on.  The  villagers  would  be 
surprised  to  find  how  soon  all  their  principal  roads  had 
been  made  good  roads,  and  at  what  an  increase  of  pleas- 
ure and  comfort  to  themselves.  In  many  parts  of  our 
country,  stone  is  so  abundant  that  enough  might  be 
taken  from  the  surface  of  the  adjacent  fields  to  make 
a  good  hard  road,  while  at  the  same  time  benefiting 
the  fields  for  tillage  purposes. 

Where  stone  does  not  abound  or  is  too  expensive  to 
be  used,  gravel  is  the  next  best  thing  to  be  sought ;  and 
where  this  is  not  to  be  had,  of  course  common  earth 
must  be  used.  In  the  latter  case  the  coarsest  and  hard- 
est that  can  be  obtained  should  be  chosen.  The  sub- 


ROADS  AND  BRIDGES.  227 

soil  is  better  than  that  of  the  surface.  Turf  is  bad  for 
road-making,  and  should  be  avoided ;  it  is  better  for  the 
compost-heap.  In  these  days,  when  anthracite  coal  is 
so  largely  consumed  in  the  country,  the  ashes  may  be 
used  with  advantage  on  the  roads.  They  are,  perhaps, 
as  good  as  gravel.  At  any  rate,  and  by  whatever  means 
are  necessary,  let  the  best  attainable  materials  be  used 
for  the  construction  of  the  roads.  There  is  little  dan- 
ger that  any  expenditure  in  this  direction,  however 
great,  will  be  regretted.  The  economic  advantage  of 
a  well-built  road  is  illustrated  by  the  fact,  stated  on 
good  authority,  that  for  want  of  properly  constructed 
roads  the  Spanish  Government,  on  one  occasion,  was 
obliged  to  use  30,000  mules  and  horses  for  the  purpose 
of  transporting  about  500  tons  of  grain  from  Castile  to 
Madrid,  when  with  good  roads  the  work  might  have 
been  done  by  300  horses. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  two  most  important  requisites 
of  a  good  road — a  proper  grade  and  proper  materials 
for  its  construction.  Some  other  things,  however,  are 
to  be  taken  into  consideration  as  having  an  important 
bearing  upon  the  subject.  Among  these  may  be  men- 
tioned the  width  of  the  road  and  the  form  given  to  its 
surface.  We  should  have  better  roads,  in  many  cases,  if 
we  did  not  undertake  to  make  them  so  wide  as  we  often 
do.  It  is  better — cheaper — to  make  a  good  road  of  fif- 
teen or  eighteen  feet  in  width  than  to  make  an  inferior 
road  thirty  or  forty  feet  broad.  Wide  roads  waste  land 
which  might  be  used  more  profitably  for  other  pur- 


228  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

poses,  and  the  cost  of  their  construction  and  repair  is 
greater  than  in  the  case  of  narrower  ones.  If  the  road 
is  well  made — that  is,  so  as  to  have  a  smooth,  hard  sur- 
face— there  will  be  no  need  of  rounding  it  up,  as  is  so 
often  done.  The  surface  may  be  nearly  level.  A  slope 
of  three  or  four  inches  each  way  from  the  centre,  in  a 
road  twenty  feet  wide,  is  ample  for  the  purpose  of  car- 
rying off  the  water ;  and  only  what  is  sufficient  for  that 
purpose  should  be  allowed.  On  such  a  road,  vehicles 
would  pass  over  all  parts  of  it  with  equal  ease  and 
with  equal  comfort  to  travellers,  instead  of  being  con- 
fined to  the  centre,  as  they  now  are,  so  far  as  possi- 
ble, because  the  excessive  slope  commonly  given  to  the 
roads  makes  it  unpleasant  to  ride  upon  the  sides,  the 
wheels  on  one  side  of  the  carriage  being  necessarily  so 
much  lower  than  on  the  other.  Roads  used  thus  equal- 
ly, or  almost  equally,  upon  all  parts  of  their  surface 
will  be  less  likely  to  be  worn  into  ruts  and  holes,  to  the 
discomfort  of  the  traveller  and  the  strain  of  vehicles, 
than  roads  as  ordinarily  made.  The  very  fact  that  the 
centre  of  our  roads  is  commonly  the  only  portion  that 
approaches  a  level,  and  the  disposition  to  drive  on  that 
portion  in  order  to  keep  the  vehicles  upright,  leads  to 
an  excessive  trampling  of  the  road  in  that  part,  which 
soon  wears  it  down  so  as  to  make  it  lower  than  the  por- 
tion upon  either  side  of  it,  and  gives  occasion  to  stand- 
ing water,  which  tends  to  put  the  road  out  of  good  con- 
dition for  travel  sooner  than  anything  else.  The  wheels 
of  the  carriages,  for  the  same  reason,  being  rolled  main- 


ROADS  AND  BRIDGES.  229 

ly  on  the  same  line,  tend  to  wear  the  road  into  ruts,  in 
which,  at  Bvery  fall  of  rain,  the  water  collects  and  flows 
along  in  streams  that  soon  get  volume  enough  to  tear 
the  road  and  break  up  its  smoothness.  If  a  road  is  only 
well  made  as  to  material  and  shape,  and  properly  drain- 
ed, there  will  be  hardly  any  need  of  water-bars,  as  any 
rain  falling  upon  the  road  will  run  off  at  once  into  the 
side-ditches  without  wearing  or  injuring  the  road-bed. 
Water-bars  are  often  made  so  large  and  high  that  they 
are  a  serious  inconvenience.  They  are  little  else  than 
hills  piled  upon  hills,  increasing  the  amount  of  ascent 
to  be  made,  while,  by  the  sudden  checks  and  jolts  which 
they  create,  they  often  result  in  the  breaking  of  harnesses 
and  vehicles  and  the  serious  injury  of  persons.  If  wa- 
ter-bars are  to  be  made  at  all.  they  should  be  made  as 
slight  as  possible,  and  of  stone  rather  than  earth. 

The  following  cut  shows  a  section  of  road  as  often 
made,  rounded  up  so  much  that  travel  is  unsafe  upon 


the  sides,  while  the  centre  soon  gets  worn  lower  than  the 
parts  adjacent,  and  consequently  becomes  a  depository  for 
water,  to  the  speedy  and  permanent  injury  of  the  road. 
The  cut  on  the  following  page  shows  a  cross-section  of 
a  road  as  it  should  be.  It  consists  of  two  inclined  planes 
with  a  slope  of  seven  and  a  half  inches  from  the  centre 
of  the  road  to  the  ditch  on  either  side.  On  a  road  of 


230  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 


good  material  this  slope  is  ample  for  the  carrying-off 
of  water,  and  renders  driving  easy  and  pleasant  on  all 
portions  of  the  road. 

But  a  good  road-bed  is  not  all  that  we  want;  for 
mere  transportation  this  is  enough — certainly  it  is  the 
prime  requisite.  But  in  so  far  as  roads  are  the  means 
of  facilitating  the  intercourse  of  human  beings  with 
each  other,  they  ought  to  be  pleasant  in  every  way,  and 
even  minister  to  our  sense  of  the  beautiful.  If  I  am 
going  to  see  a  brother  man,  or  only  going  on  some  er- 
rand of  business,  let  me  go  in  as  pleasant  a  way  as  prac- 
ticable. Let  my  road  take  me  through  agreeable  scenes 
if  it  may.  Let  it  be  sheltered,  if  possible,  from  the 
scorching  heats  of  July  and  the  sweeping  blasts  of  De- 
cember. 

On  the  island  of  Jersey,  oil  the  coast  of  France,  the 
roads  are  bordered  with  trees,  so  that  the  traveller  pass- 
es under  an  almost  continuous  arch  of  cool  and  living 
green ;  while  all  along  the  border  upon  which  the  trees 
are  planted — which  is  a  mound  formed  by  casting  up  the 
earth  from  the  ditch  on  either  side  of  the  roadway — 
the  loveliest  ivies  and  other  vines  constantly  greet  the 
eye.  Managed  in  this  way,  the  roads  on  that  island 
constitute  one  of  the  chief  charms  of  a  charming  piece 


ROADS  AND   BRIDGES.  231 

of  country.  Why  should  not  our  roads  be  made  pleas- 
ant in  some  such  way  oftener  than  they  are,  instead  of 
being  so  frequently  mere  strips  of  mud  or  sand  through 
which  we  flounder  in  summer  heat,  and  where  we  are 
smitten  and  swept  by  the  winter  cold,  dreading  the 
passage  over  them,  and  undertaking  it  only  as  a  neces- 
sity? In  the  island  of  Jersey  the  land  is  so  limited  in 
extent  and  so  valuable  for  cultivation  that  most  of  the 
roads  are  only  wide  enough  to  accommodate  a  single 
vehicle,  with  occasional  wider  places  or  turnouts  where 
carriages  may  pass  each  other.  But  with  the  broad 
roads  which  we  often  have  in  this  country,  especially 
in  many  of  our  New  England  towns,  it  is  an  easy  thing 
not  only  to  have  pleasant  highways  for  travel,  but  to 
make  the  roads  at  the  same  time  most  effective  village 
embellishments.  All  that  is  necessary  is  to  construct, 
in  place  of  the  driveway  which  ordinarily  meanders 
along  such  streets,  without  much  regard  either  to  con- 
venience or  beauty,  a  narrow  but  sufficient  roadway 
upon  each  side  of  the  street,  and  rather  near  to  the 
houses,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  easy  access  to  them, 
together  with  diagonal  roads  now  and  then  crossing 
from  side  to  side,  so  that  there  may  be  ample  facility 
of  intercourse  between  neighbors  living  upon  opposite 
sides  of  the  street.  Then  let  the  intervening  space  be 
made  into  a  lawn-like  surface,  with  trees  and  shrubs  ju- 
diciously planted,  and  a  fountain  here  and  there  throw- 
ing up  its  silvery  jets.  How  easy  it  would  be  for  those 
living  along  such  a  street,  by  their  combined  efforts,  to 


232  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE   LIFE. 

convert  it  thus  into  a  beautiful  park  which  would  be 
a  daily  delight  to  them  and  the  admiration  of  the  pass- 
ing traveller !  How  many  of  our  old  roads,  which  are 
now  little  more  than  dreary  expanses  of  weeds  and  wild 
grasses,  might  thus  be  made  objects  of  beauty  and  the 
means  of  a  most  desirable  social  culture !  Any  one 
who  has  traversed  the  wide  village  streets  which  stretch 
along  the  valley  of  the  Connecticut;  who  has  visited 
old  Hadley,  Deerfield,  Longmeadow,  Enfield,  and  Wind- 
sor, to  say  nothing  of  other  places  in  various  parts  of 
the  country,  will  at  once  perceive  what  an  additional 
charm  might  easily  be  given  to  many  of  our  finest  vil- 
lages in  the  manner  which  we  have  suggested. 

An  instance  of  what  can  be  done  in  this  way  may  be 
seen  at  Williamstown,  Mass.  The  principal  street  of 
this  fine  old  village  is  a  mile  or  more  in  length,  and 
nearly  three  hundred  feet  broad.  The  road,  in  its 
course,  meets  three  considerable  hills  not  far  apart, 
which  give  it  a  pleasant  variety  and  even  picturesque- 
ness  of  appearance.  The  natural  beauty  of  the  street 
and  of  the  village  has  long  impressed  those  of  appre- 
ciative taste.  Several  years  ago,  the  late  Professor  Al- 
bert Hopkins,  who  was  such  a  lover  of  nature,  was 
prominent  in  an  endeavor  to  bring  the  street  and  the 
grounds  of  the  adjacent  proprietors  into  a  symmetrical 
and  harmonious  arrangement,  and  to  secure  a  tasteful 
disposal  of  the  whole.  The  wide  street  was  made  yet 
wider,  in  portions  of  it  at  least,  by  the  removal  of  the 
fences  in  front  of  the  college  and  its  vicinity,  and  the 


ROADS  AND  BRIDGES.  233 

college  grounds  themselves,  embracing  the  two  central 
elevations  over  which  the  road  passes,  were  taken  in 
hand  and  brought  into  proper  shape  and  made  very 
attractive.  The  various  college  societies,  which  own 
some  of  the  finest  buildings  in  the  village,  have  also 
been  prompt  to  bring  their  premises  into  a  neat  and 
tasteful  condition. 

Thus  gradually  has  the  village  been  gaining  in  ap- 
pearance for  several  years.  But  within  a  short  time 
a  decided  impulse  has  been  given  to  the  work  of  im- 
provement here  by  Mr.  Cyrus  "W.  Field,  who — with  a 
noble  generosity  all  the  more  noteworthy  because  he 
has  no  personal  relationship  with  the  place — has  already 
expended  more  than  five  thousand  dollars,  a  portion  of 
it  in  the  embellishment  of  the  college  buildings  and 
grounds,  but  a  larger  share  of  it  in  converting  into  a 
lovely  park  that  part  of  the  street  which  formerly  con- 
stituted the  church  green.  This  work  is  now  so  far 
completed  as  to  show  what  the  effect  is  to  be,  and  to 
commend  the  enterprise  of  Mr.  Field  as  an  example  to 
others  who  have  the  needful  wealth  for  such  undertak- 
ings. When  the  contemplated  plans  of  improvement 
are  carried  out  to  their  completion,  Williamstown  will 
sit  more  than  ever  as  a  queen  of  beauty  among  her  sur- 
rounding hills,  and,  with  her  noble  college,  will  become 
more  attractive  than  ever  for  her  unsurpassed  beauty 
and  her  cultured  society. 

And  now,  in  the  interest  of  humanity,  before  dismiss- 
ing the  consideration  of  the  subject  before  us,  let  us 

Q 


234  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

suggest  that  our  various  town  authorities  ought  to  be 
somewhat  more  mindful  than  they  sometimes  are  that 
their  roads  are  occasionally  traversed  by  persons  from 
a  distance,  who  may  be  at  a  loss  to  know  how  directly 
any  particular  road  may  be  conducting  them  towards 
their  destination,  or  how  far  they  may  be  from  it  at 
any  particular  time.  For  the  benefit  of  such,  as  well 
as  for  the  comfort  of  the  horses  which  may  be  thirsty 
by  the  way,  there  should  be  consideration  enough  to 
see  that  guide-boards  are  maintained  at  the  junctions 
of  all  roads  with  others,  together  with  mile-stones,  or 
some  other  means  of  designating  distances;  and  then, 
at  suitable  intervals,  where  some  spring  gushes  from 
the  hill-side,  or  where  water  may  be  conveniently  ob- 
tained, let  there  be  drinking-troughs.  A  mossy  old 
log  hollowed  out,  or  a  simple  tub,  is  all  that  is  need- 
ed, and  is  more  inviting  in  the  country  even  to  a 
horse,  we  must  think,  than  any  fanciful  cast-iron  af- 
fairs— dolphins  or  swans — such  as  we  sometimes  see. 
Then,  finally,  let  them  sternly  abate  those  nuisances 
in  the  form  of  advertisements  of  patent  medicines,  dry- 
goods,  and  groceries,  and  things  innumerable  which  now 
so  often  bedaub  and  disfigure  the  rocks  and  fences  by 
the  roadside,  as  well  as  our  bridges  and  many  a  lovely 
and  picturesque  spot,  shocking  good  taste  by  their  star- 
ing effrontery,  and  even  endangering  life  by  affrighting 
the  horses  which  draw  us  on  our  errands  of  business  or 
pleasure. 


ROADS  AND  BRIDGES.  235 


FOOTWAYS. 


But  while  considering  the  importance  of  good  roads, 
we  ought  not  to  confine  our  attention  to  those  which 
are  designed  for  the  use  of  vehicles ;  nor  ought  we  to 
provide  a  better  pathway  for  our  cattle  and  horses  than 
for  ourselves.  Yet  this  we  often  do.  We  pretend,  at 
least,  to  make  proper  roads  for  the  transportation  of 
our  property,  and  we  make  them  with  some  reference, 
certainly,  to  the  safety  and  comfort  of  the  animals  which 
are  expected  to  traverse  them.  But  how  rarely  in  our 
villages  is  there  any  adequate  provision  for  the  conven- 
ient intercourse  of  those  who  have  occasion  to  pass  from 
one  place  to  another  on  foot !  One  has  commonly  to 
choose  between  the  dusty  or  muddy  highway  made  for 
the  cattle  and  the  grass  and  stones  and  bushes  which  bor- 
der it.  Even  in  many  of  our  closely  settled  villages,  how 
difficult  it  is  often  for  one  to  get  to  the  nearest  neigh- 
bor's house  for  a  friendly  call !  If  there  has  been  a  rain 
recently,  the  chance  is  that  one  cannot  cross  the  street 
comfortably  on  account  of  the  mud ;  and  even  in  pleas- 
ant weather  the  grass,  heavy  with  dew,  practically  for- 
bids all  going  out  until  late  in  the  morning,  when  the 
sun  has  dried  up  the  excessive  moisture.  The  result  is, 
that  our  country  people  hardly  know  the  pleasure,  the 
luxury  even,  of  a  good  daily  walk.  They  really  do  not 
know  how  to  walk.  If  a  call  of  business  or  pleasure  is 
to  be  made  at  the  distance  of  half  a  mile,  instead  of 
starting  off  vigorously  on  foot,  the  boy  jumps  upon  his 


236  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

horse's  back  and  the  girl  asks  her  brother  to  get  the 
wagoii  ready  for  her.  Pedestrianism  is  a  lost  art  in  the 
country.  The  people,  if  they  walk  at  all,  go  shambling 
along  like  their  cattle.  A  country  boy's  walk  is  laugh- 
able, and  a  country  girl's  is  little  better.  They  may 
sneer  at  city  counter-jumpers  and  the  like,  but  there  are 
thousands  of  men  and  women,  merchants,  clerks,  and 
Fifth -avenue  ladies  who  daily  take  walks,  and  find 
pleasure  in  them,  which  would  utterly  fatigue  what  are 
•  deemed  our  hearty  and  robust  country  girls  and  women. 
This  conies  in  good  part  because  in  the  city  there  are 
smooth  pavements  on  which  to  walk,  while  in  the  coun- 
try there  are  hardly  any  paths  over  which  the  pedestri- 
an can  go  at  all  times  with  comfort.  The  lack  of  proper 
footways  in  the  country  is  one  of  the  greatest  hindrances 
to  that  social  intercourse  which  is  so  desirable  and  so 
much  needed  to  make  village  life  more  attractive  and 
satisfying.  There  are  few  things  which  would  do  more 
for  the  social  life  and  true  enjoyment  of  a  village  than 
the  making  of  good  footpaths.  Until  we  can  have  these 
we  would  encourage  our  country  girls  and  women  to 
do  as  did  the  late  Miss  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick.  We 
remember  seeing  her  morning  after  morning,  when  she 
was  nearly,  if  not  quite,  seventy  years  of  age,  and  at  an 
hour  earlier  than  that  at  which  most  people  take  their 
breakfast,  the  skirts  of  her  dress  shortened  so  as  to 
avoid  the  wet  grass,  and  with  stout  shoes,  starting  off 
for  a  walk  with  a  vigor  and  a  rapidity  of  pace  that  put 
to  shame  the  whole  village  in  which  she  was  for  the 


ROADS   AND  BRIDGES.  237 

time  a  resident.  How  much  this  habit  of  taking  daily 
exercise  on  foot  had  to  do  with  the  prolongation  of 
her  life,  and  how  much  her  outdoor  rambles  had  to  do 
with  the  healthful  tone  which  pervades  all  her  numer- 
ous writings,  we  are  not  prepared  to  say.  But  we  are 
confident  that  such  a  habit  in  our  mothers  and  daugh- 
ters, and  in  all  our  people,  would  be  healthful  in  the 
extreme  both  to  body  and  mind,  and  add  greatly  to 
the  enjoyment  of  life. 

STREET  LIGHTS. 

If  roads  and  footpaths  are  desirable  as  facilitating 
intercourse  between  people,  and  so  becoming  the  signs 
and  instruments  of  civilization  and  social  advancement, 
then  it  would  seem  that  their  usefulness  requires  that 
they  should  be  so  lighted  during  the  customary  hours 
of  use  that  those  passing  over  them,  or  desiring  to  do 
so,  can  find  their  way  without  difficulty.  And  at  hard- 
ly any  time  do  we  more  need  the  use  of  our  roads,  es- 
pecially in  the  more  densely  populated  villages,  than  in 
the  evening.  It  is  after  the  day's  work  is  over  that  we 
have  most  leisure  as  well  as  the  strongest  desire  for  the 
interchange  of  social  intercourse.  It  is  then  especially 
that  we  like  to  cross  a  neighbor's  threshold  and  feel 
that  we  have  common  interests  and  concerns.  There 
should  be  no  unnecessary  impediments  to  such  inter- 
course. The  darkness  should  not  hinder  this  commin- 
gling of  those  who  dwell  in  the  same  vicinity.  In  these 
days  of  cheap  illuminators,  the  cost  of  a  dozen  kerosene 


238  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LITE. 

or  naphtha  lamps,  properly  screened  from  the  wind  by 
lanterns,  ought  not  to  be  felt  as  a  burdensome  tax  upon 
any  village.  Once  adopted,  such  an  aid  to  social  inter- 
course and  general  well-being  will  soon  be  deemed  some- 
thing indispensable.  It  is  one  of  the  signs  of  progress 
that  so  many  of  our  villages  are  turning  their  attention 
to  this  subject. 

BRIDGES. 

After  what  we  have  said  of  roads,  little  needs  to  be 
added  in  regard  to  bridges.  Designed  for  the  purpose 
of  conveying  persons  and  goods  across  streams — road- 
ways over  the  water — the  first  requisite  in  their  con- 
struction is  strength ;  but  attention  has  been  limited  too 
exclusively  to  this.  The  result  is  that  we  have  a  great 
many  structures  spanning  our  larger  and  smaller  streams 
that  are  not  only  unsightly  in  themselves,  but  which 
mar  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  of  which  they  often 
form  a  prominent  feature.  Why  should  not  objects  so 
conspicuous  as  bridges  almost  always  are  be  made  pleas- 
ant features  of  our  towns  and  villages  instead  of  being 
repulsive  ?  Our  utilitarianism  has  left  in  neglect  what 
might  be  an  important  source  of  beauty  and  pleasure  in 
our  village  life.  If,  instead  of  those  huge  wooden  tun- 
nels, often  of  a  glaring  red  color,  which  so  frequently 
thrust  their  great  bulk  across  our  water-courses — their 
stiff,  level  lines  quite  out  of  harmony  with  the  curves  of 
the  stream  and  of  the  land  on  either  side — we  could  see 
a  graceful  arch  of  stone,  how  much  pleasanter  would  be 
the  sight!  An  addition  of  positive  beauty  would  be 


ROADS  AND  BRIDGES. 

made  to  the  landscape.  At  the  same  time,  such  a  struct- 
ure would  be  more  durable,  and  in  the  long  run  cheap- 
er, than  any  other.  Or  if  we  do  not  choose  to  build  of 
stone,  we  can  have  bridges  of  iron  or  wood  which  will 
be  objects  of  real  beauty,  while  serving  the  purposes  of 
utility.  With  hardly  any  additional  cost,  bridges  may 
be  so  made  as  to  elicit  the  admiration  of  every  one  who 
crosses  them  or  beholds  them  from  a  distance.  Such 
structures  so  placed,  as  they  almost  necessarily  are,  are 
peculiarly  adapted  to  become  ornamental  features  of 
the  scenery  of  which  they  form  a  part.  One  cannot 
visit  Europe  without  being  made  to  feel  that  a  bridge 
is  something  more  than  a  mere  convenience  for  getting 
across  a  stream.  There  we  find  them  classing  among 
the  most  beautiful  works  of  architecture,  the  stone 
moulded  into  gracefully  curving  lines  which  harmo- 
nize with  the  curving  lines  of  the  rivers  and  their 
banks.  Very  likely  they  will  be  adorned  with  the 
mosses  of  age,  or  decorated  with  mantling  vines  that 
run  luxuriantly  over  arch  and  wall,  and  link  bridge  and 
water  together.  Our  youthfulness  as  a  nation  and  our 
limited  resources  have  hitherto  been  our  excuse  for 
great  deficiency  in  matters  of  an  aesthetic  character. 
But  we  are  old  enough  now,  and  rich  enough,  to  have 
some  appropriate  fruits  of  age  and  ample  wealth.  Our 
bridges,  among  other  things,  ought  to  show  this.  And 
our  smaller  streams,  not  less  than  the  larger,  should  be 
spanned  by  structures  of  a  tasteful  character.  Even 
the  little  runlets  that  cross  our  country  roads  so  often, 


240  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

and  over  which  we  frequently  throw  such  tasteless  and 
crazy  structures — two  roughly  hewn  logs  perhaps,  with 
a  few  warped  and  rattling  loose  planks  laid  across  them 
— how  easy  it  would  be  to  make  the  numerous  crossings 
of  them  the  occasions  of  positive  pleasure  by  means  of 
graceful  bridges,  the  cost  of  which  would  not  be  felt ! 
In  many  places  a  charming  effect  might  be  gained  by 
the  construction  of  rustic  bridges,  which  would  be  so 
completely  in  harmony  with  all  the  scene  around,  as 
especially  in  some  wooded  or  rocky  region,  a  little  re- 
mote, perhaps,  from  the  more  populous  portions  of  the 
town  or  village.  Any  ordinary  carpenter,  almost  any 
one  who  has  a  little  tasteful  feeling,  can  build  such  a 
bridge.  It  is  only  necessary  to  take  two  or  three  logs, 
not  hewn  or  shaped  by  axe  or  saw,  but  with  the  bark 
left  upon  them,  for  the  supports  of  the  bridge  floor; 
then  let  some  of  the  larger  branches  of  the  trees  which 
have  been  cut,  their  bark  also  left  upon  them,  be  tak- 
en and  pinned  together  to  form  the  necessary  rails  or 
guards  for  the  sides.  Smaller  branches  still  may  be 
inwoven  with  these  at  pleasure,  to  give  some  effect 
of  ornament,  and  the  work  is  done;  and  you  have  a 
structure  all-sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  travel,  while 
it  is  in  accord  with  the  scenery  around ;  and  instead 
of  hiding  the  stream  from  the  passer-by,  as  so  many  of 
our  bridges  do,  this  invites  him  to  pause  and  contem- 
plate the  beauty  of  the  water  and  of  the  fields  and 
woods,  which  get  an  additional  loveliness  as  they  are 
bathed  by  it  or  reflected  in  its  liquid  mirror. 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  241 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PRESERVATION    OF    WOODLANDS. 

"  A  man  was  famous  according  as  he  had  lifted  up  axes  upon  the  thick 
trees." — Psa.  Ixxiv.  6. 

"  The  destruction  of  the  woods,  then,  was  man's  first  geographical  con- 
quest, his  first  violation  of  the  harmonies  of  inanimate  nature." — G.  P. 
MARSH  :  Man  and  Nature. 

WHEN  the  settlement  of  our  country  by  the  whites 
began,  it  was  so  heavily  timbered  that  in  many  places 
the  first  problem  was,  how  to  get  rid  of  the  trees,  so  as 
to  have  sufficient  open  space  for  the  tillage  needful  for 
the  support  of  the  settler  and  his  family.  The  forests 
were  in  the  way.  They  were  regarded  as  a  nuisance 
almost,  rather  than  anything  of  value.  In  their  haste 
to  clear  up  the  soil,  the  settlers  could  not  cut  away  the 
trees  fast  enough.  So  they  girdled  and  left  to  fall  by 
slow  decay  what  they  could  not  destroy  with  the  axe 
and  consume  at  once. 

As  the  settlement  of  the  country  has  advanced  and 
various  industries  have  arisen,  as  towns  and  cities  have 
come  into  being,  as  manufactures  have  increased,  there 
have  come  new  demands  upon  our  forests,  and  these 
demands  have  been  supplied  not  only  with  readiness, 
but  with  recklessness,  until  there  has  come  to  be  well- 


242  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

founded  alarm  lest  our  timber  supply  sliali  fail  us.  Our 
finest  timber  has  been  cut  and  consumed  for  fuel  wher- 
ever a  price  has  been  offered  for  it  that  would  leave  any 
present  profit  after  deducting  the  expense  of  chopping 
and  carrying  to  market.  It  has  been  estimated  that  a 
single  iron  furnace  in  blast  will  consume  from  year  to 
year  all  the  wood  that  can  be  properly  spared  from  a 
region  extending  three  miles  from  it  in  every  direction. 
In  other  words,  it  would  require  nearly  an  ordinary 
township  of  land,  or  a  tract  six  miles  square,  to  keep  a 
furnace  supplied  with  fuel.  Our  railroads  also  are  enor- 
mous consumers  of  forests,  both  for  the  construction  of 
their  road-beds,  for  fences,  and  for  fuel.  They  consume 
them  for  the  latter  purpose  until  scarcity  carries  up  the 
price  so  far  as  to  lead  to  the  partial  or  complete  use  of 
coal.  The  fencing  of  our  railroads  alone  requires  lum- 
ber to  the  value  of  $4,500,000.  Our  65,000  miles  of 
telegraph  lines  have  consumed  2,000,000  trees,  and  re- 
quire 250,000  for  their  annual  repair  and  increase.  It 
was  estimated  several  years  ago  that  the  railroads  of 
Ohio  consumed  700,000  cords  of  wood  annually  for  fuel. 
These  roads  required  also  more  than  10,000,000  ties  for 
their  construction,  and  these  would  need  to  be  renewed, 
on  the  average,  every  six  years.  There  were  in  the  same 
state,  at  that  time,  sixteen  miles  of  wooden  railroad 
bridges  and  ten  miles  of  trestle-work,  the  timber  of 
which  would  have  to  be  renewed  almost  as  often  as  the 
railroad  ties. 
What  is  true  of  Ohio  is  true  also  of  many  other 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  243 

states,  some  of  which,  on  account  of  having  a  smaller 
proportional  area  covered  with  forest,  are  less  able  to 
meet  the  demands  made  upon  them.  Then  one  has 
only  to  look  at  the  lumber  trade  of  our  country  to  be 
astonished  at  the  havoc  we  are  making  with  our  trees. 
For  instance,  a  gentleman  writing  from  Wisconsin  says 
that  there  were  10,000,000  acres  of  land  in  Wisconsin 
and  Michigan,  north  of  the  44th  degree  of  latitude, 
which  were  originally  covered  with  valuable  timber. 
Since  the  settlements  have  commenced  in  that  part  of 
the  country,  at  least  half  of  this  has  been  cut  off  and  sold, 
and  1,000,000  acres  of  hard- wood  timber  have  also  been 
felled  and  burned  upon  the  ground  by  the  farmers  while 
clearing  up  their  lands.  All  along  the  rivers  flowing 
out  from  this  region,  lumber-mills  have  been  erected, 
many  of  which  are  of  such  capacity  that  they  are  able 
each  to  cut  annually  100,000,000  feet  of  lumber.  Not 
less  than  1,750,000,000  feet  of  lumber  were  taken  from 
this  vicinity  in  a.  single  year  some  time  ago.  The  aver- 
age yield  of  pine  timber  in  this  locality  is  estimated  at 
300,000  feet  for  forty  acres.  Beckoning  it  at  333,000 
feet,  it  would  require  more  than  200,000  acres  annually 
to  furnish  the  lumber  product  of  this  district.  Then, 
if  we  add  100,000  acres  for  railroad  ties,  telegraph  posts, 
hewn  timber,  shingles,  and  firewood,  as  determined  by 
the  known  amount  received  from  this  district  in  the 
Chicago  market,  and  30,000  acres  for  the  amount  cut 
and  burned  on  the  ground  in  the  process  of  clearing  the 
land,  we  have  330,000  acres  stripped  every  year  of  their 


244  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

growth  of  wood,  or  more  than  1000  acres  for  every 
working-day  of  the  year. 

It  may  give  some  a  more  definite  impression  of  the 
rapidity  with  which  the  consumption  of  our  forests  is 
going  on  when  we  say  that  the  clearing  of  the  above- 
mentioned  number  of  acres  is  equal  to  the  cutting  of 
the  timber  on  nearly  500  square  miles,  or  more  than  one 
third  the  area  of  the  State  of  Rhode  Island. 

It  is  difficult  to  make  an  accurate  estimate  of  the 
amount  of  lumber  produced  in  our  entire  country,  or 
the  total  consequent  consumption  of  our  forests,  because 
there  is  no  report  of  the  trees  cut  by  farmers  and  others 
in  a  small  way,  and  worked  up  in  the  lesser  saw-mills 
which  are  to  be  found  all  over  the  country  and  upon  all 
our  smaller  streams.  We  have  reports  only  from  the 
great  mills  in  the  so-called  lumber  regions  of  the  coun- 
try, and  from  certain  chief  centres  of  the  lumber  trade, 
such  as  Chicago  and  St.  Louis  in  the  "West,  and  Albany, 
Boston,  Saco,  etc.,  in  the  East ;  and  even  in  these  places 
the  statistics  are  incomplete.  From  such  reports  as  we 
have,  however,  it  appears  that  the  work  of  felling  our 
forest  trees,  and  converting  them  into  lumber  for  vari- 
ous uses,  is  one  of  the  principal  occupations  of  our  peo- 
ple. Taking  the  great  lumber  region  of  the  Northwest, 
we  find  the  product  for  the  year  1875  as  follows : 

Michigan 2,746,866,184  feet. 

In  Wisconsin 1,036,576,900  " 

In  Minnesota 342,623,171  " 

On  Mississippi  River 291.487,000  ' ' 

Total  4,417,553,255  " 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  245 

To  these  figures  may  be  added  for  other  parts  of  the 
country — 

Pennsylvania  263,820,000  feet. 

New  York 10,680,000 

Maine 45,344,000 

Georgia 17,750,000 

Florida 26,300,000 

Alabama 7,500,000 

The  total  is  thus  carried  up  to  4,788,947,255  feet. 
These  estimates,  moreover,  are  for  pine  lumber  alone, 
and  leave  out  the  hard-wood  of  various  kinds,  which  is 
used  so  largely  in  the  manufacture  of  tools  and  imple- 
ments of  many  sorts,  furniture,  and  various  other  arti- 
cles of  use  and  comfort.* 

If  now  we  add  the  product  of  the  Pacific  coast,  from 
which  there  is  an  estimated  annual  export  of  more  than 
400,000,000  feet,  we  shall  see  that  we  have  an  annual 
product  of  lumber,  mainly  pine,  exceeding  5,000,000,000 
feet.  It  is  reasonable  to  think  that  if  we  could  have  an 
account  of  the  lumber  made  at  the  small  mills  all  over 
the  country,  and  the  timber  used  for  railroad  building, 


*  There  are  in  our  country  seventy  or  more  occupations  which  use 
wood,  in  whole  or  in  part,  for  their  raw  material,  employing  1,000,000 
hands.  There  are  nearly  70,000  establishments  manufacturing  articles 
made  entirely  of  wood,  employing  393,387  persons,  and  using  material 
worth  $300,000,000  annually. 

Even  so  seemingly  insignificant  a  manufacture  as  that  of  friction  match- 
es involves,  according  to  Mr.  George  P.  Marsh,  the  use  of  not  less  than 
230,000  feet  of  the  best  pine  lumber,  or  the  product  of  between  60  and 
70  acres;  while  the  production  of  shoe-pegs  in  our  country  consumes 
1,000,000  dollars'  worth  of  white  birch. 


246  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

for  bridges,  and  fences,  and  for  the  thousand  purposes 
of  the  arts,  the  figures  would  be  at  least  double  those 
which  we  have  reached. 

It  has  been  estimated  that  as  long  ago  as  the  year 
1869  the  consumption  of  wood  for  fuel  by  the  railroads 
necessitated  the  cutting-off  of  350,000  acres  of  wood- 
land every  year.  In  1874  there  were  72,623  miles  of 
railroad  in  operation.  The  addition  of  double  tracks 
and  sidings  will  probably  increase  the  mileage  to  85,000. 
Supposing  the  life  of  a  railroad  tie  to  be  seven  years, 
34,000,000  ties  would  be  required  annually,  or  what 
could  be  cut  from  68,000  acres  of  woodland. 

Some  of  these  figures  are  so  large  that  we  cannot 
comprehend  them  as  they  stand.  Let  us  try  to  bring 
them  within  our  grasp.  If  we  take  the  lumbermen's 
estimate  that  forty  acres  will  ordinarily  yield  333,000 
feet  of  lumber,  then  it  appears  that  in  order  to  furnish 
the  amount  annually  produced  in  our  country,  not  few- 
er than  12,012,012  acres  of  woodland  have  to  be  swept 
clean  by  the  axe,  or  an  area  nearly  equal  to  that  of  the 
states  of  New  Hampshire  and  Vermont.  By  another 
estimate  this  amount  would  load  50,000  vessels,  each  car- 
rying 200,000  feet,  the  average  cargo  carried  by  the  ves- 
sels employed  in  the  lumber  trade  of  our  Great  Lakes, 
or  it  would  fill  1,428,571  railway  cars  with  7000  feet 
each,  the  ordinary  car-load.  This  would  make  a  train  of 
cars  8500  miles  long,  or  one  third  the  distance  around 
the  globe.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  at  this  rate  the  great 
lumber-producing  regions  will  soon  be  exhausted. 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  21T 

But  we  are  beginning  to  discover  that  the  destruction 
of  our  woodlands  means  also  something  besides  the  ex- 
haustion of  a  valuable  article  of  commerce  and  of  use 
in  the  arts.  It  means  a  change  in  climate  and  in  the 
productiveness  of  the  soil.  It  means  a  change  in  the 
water  supply  of  great  regions,  and  consequently  affects 
health  as  well  as  the  prosecution  of  many  industries 
which  are  dependent  upon  the  water-power  of  streams. 
The  healthfulness  of  a  region  is  dependent  in  no  small 
degree  upon  its  being  well  wooded.  Trees  are  large 
absorbers  of  carbonic  acid,  a  poison  to  human  beings ; 
while  they  give  off  from  their  leaves  large  quantities  of 
oxygen,  the  life-sustaining  element  of  the  atmosphere. 
They  are  also  great  equalizers  of  temperature  and  moist- 
ure. The  presence  of  trees,  therefore,  especially  in  the 
vicinity  of  populous  towns  and  villages,  is  one  of  our 
best  assurances  of  a  healthful  atmosphere.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  winds,  which  waft  the  better  air  of  the 
wooded  regions  to  the  cities  and  to  those  districts  which 
are  comparatively  destitute  of  forests,  they  would  be 
far  less  healthy  than  they  now  are.* 


*  Mr.  Max  Von  Pettenkofer,  of  Munich,  1ms  lately  denied  that  the  ab- 
sorption of  carbonic  acid  and  the  exhalation  of  oxygen  by  vegetation  have 
any  appreciable  effect  in  purifying  the  air  and  making  it  more  wholesome, 
and  he  adduces  many  interesting  experiments,  made  by  himself  and 
others,  as  substantiating  his  opinion.  He  argues  that  the  mnss  of  the  at- 
mosphere is  so  great,  and  that  it  is  in  such  constant  motion,  that  any  ex- 
cess in  the  production  of  carbonic  acid  is  at  once  counteracted,  and  the 
general  average  is  preserved.  At  the  same  time,  he  admits  that  trees  aud 
plants  have  a  very  great  sanitary  value,  but  for  other  reasons. 


248  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

Trees  have  another  important  office — that  of  shielding 
from  sweeping  winds,  which,  by  their  force,  their  piercing 
cold,  or  for  any  other  reason,  might  be  harmful  to  us  or 
the  crops  we  seek  to  produce  on  our  lauds.  Even  a  sin- 
gle row  of  evergreens  planted  on  the  exposed  sides  of  a 
house  is  sufficient  to  make  a  perceptible  change  in  re- 
spect to  the  comfort  of  living.  A  belt  of  such  trees 
consisting  of  only  a  few  rows  is  equivalent  in  effect  to 
a  change  of  several  degrees  of  latitude,  and  will  enable 
one  to  grow  many  kinds  of  fruits  and  vegetables  which 
could  not  otherwise  be  successfully  cultivated.  The 
same  effect  is  produced  by  the  vicinity  of  a  piece  of 
woodland  covered  with  deciduous  trees ;  for  though 
these  have  not  the  dense  foliage  of  the  evergreens,  and 
lose  their  leaves  altogether  during  the  colder  seasons  of 
the  year,  yet  every  one  who  is  at  home  in  the  country 
knows  that  the  most  violent  winds  penetrate  but  a  little 
way  into  the  forests,  even  when  stripped  of  their  foliage, 
and  that  the  woodchoppers  are  able  to  carry  on  their 
work  in  the  coldest  weather  of  winter  with  comparative 
comfort,  because  the  interior  of  the  woodland  is  still. 
It  is  the  effect  of  air  in  motion,  rather  than  its  absolute 
temperature,  which  we  most  feel,  and  which  is  most  felt 
by  vegetable  as  well  as  animal  organisms.  Air  itself  is  a 
poor — that  is,  slow — conductor  of  heat  and  cold.  This  is 
shown  by  the  familiar  effect  of  double  windows  on  our 
houses.  The  confined  stratum  of  air,  enclosed  by  the 
windows,  interposes  an  effectual  barrier  between  the  cold 
atmosphere  without  and  the  warm  within,  so  that  the  one 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  24:9 

is  but  little  affected  by  the  other.  But  air  in  motion, 
and  in  proportion  to  the  rapidity  of  its  motion,  imparts 
its  own  heat  to  bodies  colder  than  itself,  or  absorbs  the 
heat  of  those  that  are  wanner.  Hence  we  can  bear,  in 
a  still  day,  the  exposure  to  an  atmosphere  below  zero  in 
its  temperature  without  much  inconvenience,  whereas 
we  should  shrink  from  a  temperature  twenty  degrees 
higher  if  the  air  were  in  rapid  motion.  It  is  not  so 
much  the  still  cold  nor  the  calm  heat  that  produces  dis- 
comfort, as  it  is  the  sweeping  blast,  whether  of  winter 
or  summer.  Locomotive  engineers  observe  that  in  cold, 
windy  weather  they  can  keep  up  the  steam  in  their  en- 
gines more  easily  when  passing  through  the  shelter  of 
woodlands  than  when  in  the  open  country ;  and  on  the 
prairies  of  the  West  it  is  sometimes  a  matter  of  great 
difficulty  to  maintain  a  good  head  of  steam  when  en- 
countering the  violent  winds  of  that  region. 

A  committee  of  the  French  Government,  of  which 
the  distinguished  Arago  was  a  member,  in  a  report 
made  in  the  year  1836,  said  that  the  cutting  of  a  belt 
of  forest  on  the  coast  of  Normandy  and  Brittany  would 
improve  the  climate  of  the  interior  by  admitting  the 
warm  ocean  winds,  while  the  cutting  of  a  similar  belt 
on  the  German  side  would  admit  the  glacial  winds  from 
the  Alps  and  make  the  winters  more  severe.  The  clear- 
ing of  the  Apennines  is  thought  to  have  materially 
changed  the  climate  of  the  valley  of  the  Po.  The  si- 
rocco, formerly  unknown,  now  prevails  on  the  right 

bank  of  that  stream. 

R 


250  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE   LIFE. 

The  latest  researches  of  naturalists  seem  to  show  also 
that,  as  in  the  animal  system,  so  likewise  in  the  vegeta- 
ble, the  vital  processes  are  attended  with  the  production 
of  heat.  Living  trees  have  a  temperature  of  54°  to  56° 
when  the  air  near  them  is  from  37°  to  47°.  Nor  does 
the  temperature  of  the  trees  vary  in  the  same  measure  as 
that  of  the  air.  So  long  as  the  atmosphere  is  below  67°, 
the  tree  is  always  highest  in  temperature ;  when  above 
this,  the  tree  is  lowest.  Boussingault  has  also  noticed 
the  evolution  of  heat  in  flowers  at  particular  times.  It 
is  likewise  common  in  the  winter  to  see  ice  which  has 
formed  around  trees,  melted  for  a  certain  distance  on 
every  side,  so  as  to  leave  a  clear  space,  or  a  space  filled 
more  or  less  with  water,  which  can  be  accounted  for 
only  as  the  effect  of  the  vital  heat  of  the  trees;  and 
Mr.  George  P.  Marsh,  one  of  our  most  intelligent  and 
careful  observers  in  connection  with  this  whole  subject, 
suggests  as  a  reason  why  the  evergreens  resist  the  cold 
better  than  deciduous  trees  the  fact  that  they  have  a 
more  persistent  vitality,  as  shown  by  the  retention  of 
their  leaves  throughout  the  year. 

By  the  mechanical  obstruction,  therefore,  which  trees 
in  masses  make  to  the  sweep  of  injurious  or  uncomfort- 
able winds,  as  well  as  by  the  vital  heat  which  they  emit, 
they  tend  to  modify  and  equalize  the  temperature  of 
the  region  where  they  are,  and  thereby  to  improve  it 
for  the  uses  of  man. 

But  they  exert  also  a  positively  healthful  influence  in 
another  way.  There  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  trees 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  251 

not  only  contribute  to  the  purification  of  the  atmosphere, 
by  absorbing,  as  they  do,  carbonic  acid  and  exhaling  oxy- 
gen, but  that  they  deprive  miasmatic  air  passing  through 
them  of  its  pestilential  germs,  and  so  render  it  health- 
ful. Whether  this  effect  is  merely  mechanical  or  is 
also  chemical  is  not  ascertained ;  but  the  fact  is  now 
very  generally  admitted.  Even  small  screens  of  trees 
have  often  proved  effective  in  this  respect.  In  Italy 
poplar-trees  have  been  planted  in  districts  affected  by 
malaria  as  a  remedy,  and  narrow  belts  consisting  of 
only  three  or  four  rows  of  trees  have  been  thought  to 
intercept  a  large  portion  of  the  malarious  influences. 
Even  rows  of  sunflowers  have  seemed  to  be  very  ef- 
ficient to  the  same  end.  We  are  disposed  to  regard 
swamps  as  unfavorable  to  health.  But  the  great  swamps 
of  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas  are  proved  to  be  healthy 
even  to  the  whites,  until  the  woods  in  and  about  them 
are  cut  away ;  and  there  have  been  cases  where  swamps 
from  which  the  trees  have  been  removed  have  become 
unfavorable  to  health,  but  which  have  become  health- 
ful again  when  the  trees  have  been  allowed  to  grow  up 
once  more. 

It  is  well  ascertained,  also,  that  the  presence  or  ab- 
sence of  trees  in  any  region  has  an  important  connec- 
tion with  the  rainfall  of  that  region,  thus  modifying 
its  climate  as  well  as  its  agricultural  capacity.  A  tree- 
less country  is  a  dry  and  comparatively  barren  country. 
We  may  not  be  able  to  say  exactly  why  it  should  be  so. 
How  far  it  is  to  be  attributed  to  electrical  and  how  far 


252  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

to  other  causes  we  may  not  be  able  to  determine.  But 
the  fact  is  indisputable.  We  have  the  observations  of 
Humboldt,  Herschel,  Boussingault,  and  others,  all  at- 
testing this.  On  an  elevated  plain  near  the  city  of 
Caraccas,  South  America,  for  instance,  the  chocolate 
plant  flourished.  In  the  endeavor  to  extend  the  profit- 
able culture  of  this  plant,  the  whole  plain  was  stripped 
of  the  forests  which  abounded  upon  it.  The  result  was 
that  rains  almost  ceased  to  fall  upon  the  plain,  and  the 
cultivation  of  the  plant  had  to  be  abandoned.  Since 
then  the  trees  have  been  allowed  to  grow  again,  and  the 
cultivation  of  chocolate  has  been  successfully  resumed. 
The  island  of  St.  Helena  at  one  time  had  become  al- 
most barren,  as  the  result  of  the  removal  of  its  forests. 
Latterly  the  trees  have  been  restored,  and  the  rainfall 
has  nearly  doubled  and  the  productiveness  of  the  island 
increased.  Fifty  years  ago  Mehemet  Ali  planted  from 
forty  to  fifty  millions  of  trees  in  Egypt,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  increasing  the  rain  in  that  country,  where 
sometimes  none  would  fall  for  a  twelvemonth.  Now 
the  annual  average  of  rain  there  is  thirty  days. 

The  common  opinion  that  the  presence  of  trees  in 
large  masses  increases  the  fall  of  rain  seems  to  be  sub- 
stantiated by  a  large  number  of  facts.  But  if  the  total 
amount  of  rain  from  year  to  year  is  not  increased  by 
trees,  they  very  certainly  promote  a  more  uniform  de- 
gree of  moisture  than  prevails  in  the  open  areas,  and 
cause  the  showers  to  fall  more  frequently,  if  not  more 
copiously. 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  253 

The  presence  of  trees  in  large  masses  has  a  still  more 
manifest  connection  with  the  subsequent  distribution 
of  the  rains,  and  their  ultimate  and  economical  uses. 
When  the  forests  are  allowed  to  remain  upon  the  slopes 
and  hill-sides,  the  foliage,  as  it  drops  and  decays  from 
year  to  year,  forms  a  porous,  spongy  soil,  which  is  at 
the  same  time  held  in  place  by  the  roots  of  the  trees. 
This  soil  absorbs  the  rain  as  it  falls  and  retains  it,  so 
that  it  does  not  run  off  at  once  and  in  torrents,  but 
oozes  gradually  away,  moistening  the  fields  and  feed- 
ing the  brooks  and  streams  with  a  steady  supply 
throughout  the  year.  On  the  contrary,  when  the 
woods  are  cut  off,  the  spongy  soil  soon  becomes  dry 
from  exposure  to  the  sun  and  wind ;  and  when  the  tree- 
roots  have  decayed,  there  is  nothing  to  hold  it  longer  in 
place.  The  result  is  that  the  soil  itself  is  soon  washed 
from  the  hill-sides,  to  a  considerable  extent,  making 
them  barren ;  and  the  rains,  having  nothing  to  absorb 
them  as  formerly,  go  rushing  down  at  once  in  torrents 
into  the  meadows  and  lowlands,  covering  them  often  with 
sand  and  debris,  and  producing  also  destructive  inunda- 
tions, attended  not  unfrequently  with  great  loss  of  life. 
For  the  same  reason,  the  water  being  no  longer  held 
by  the  spongy  soil  and  distributed  gradually,  but  flow- 
ing off  at  once,  in  the  intervals  between  the  rains  the 
streams  become  low.  So  there  is  an  alternation  of  floods 
and  droughts  in  place  of  the  steady  flow  which  the  for- 
ests formerly  insured.  Of  course,  the  streams  thus  vari- 
able become  less  valuable  for  manufacturing  and  com- 


254  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

mercial  purposes.  As  a  consequence,  mill-owners  are 
obliged  to  place  in  their  factories  auxiliary  steam-en- 
gines, to  give  them  sufficient  power  in  the  seasons  of 
scarcity,  or  to  construct  artificial  reservoirs,  at  great  ex- 
pense, in  which  to  store  up  the  superfluous  water  of  one 
season  for  the  needs  of  another. 

For  the  same  reason,  our  streams  are  less  valuable  for 
purposes  of  navigation  than  formerly.  Forty  years 
ago,  for  instance,  large  barges,  loaded  with  goods,  went 
up  and  down  the  Cuyahoga  River,  in  Ohio,  where  now 
a  canoe  can  hardly  pass.  Steamboats  which  could  once 
ascend  the  Mississippi  River  as  far  as  St.  Louis  at  all 
seasons  of  the  year  can  now  go  no  higher  than  Mem- 
phis. The  same  may  be  said  in  substance  of  other 
streams  in  all  parts  of  the  country. 

The  evil  effects  of  the-  extensive  and  indiscriminate 
destruction  of  our  forests  are  already  so  apparent  that 
measures  cannot  be  taken  too  soon  to  remedy  them. 
The  following,  from  the  Virginia  Enterprise,  Nevada, 
shows  the  need  of  such  measures  even  in  the  newest 
portions  of  our  country : 

"  It  will  be  but  a  very  short  time  before  we  shall  be  able  to  observe 
the  effect  that  stripping  the  pine  forests  from  the  sides  and  summit  of 
the  Sierras  will  have  on  the  climate  of  this  state  and  California.  In  a 
few  years  every  accessible  tree,  even  to  such  as  are  only  of  value  as  fire- 
wood, will  be  swept  from  the  mountains.  Even  now  this  has  been  done 
in  some  places.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  a  new  growth  of  pines  or  timber 
trees  of  some  kind  may  spring  up  on  the  ground  that  has  been  cleared, 
but  we  do  not  hear  that  any  such  growth  has  yet  started. 

"Already  one  great  change  lias  occurred  that  is  evident  to  the  most 
ordinary  observer,  which  is  the  speedy  melting-away  of  the  snow  on  tho 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  255 

mountains.  It  now  goes  off  at  once,  in  a  flood,  with  the  first  warm 
weather  of  spring ;  whereas  formerly,  being  shaded  and  protected  by  the 
pines  and  evergreen  trees,  it  melted  slowly,  and  all  summer  sent  down  to 
the  valleys  on  both  the  eastern  and  western  slopes  of  the  Sierras  constant 
and  copious  streams  of  water.  Instead  of  a  good  stage  of  water  in  our 
streams  throughout  summer,  as  in  former  times,  there  is  a  flood  in  the 
spring,  and  when  this  is  passed  by  our  rivers  speedily  run  down,  and  be- 
ing no  longer  fed  from  the  mountains,  evaporation  leaves  their  beds  al- 
most dry  when  the  hot  weather  of  summer  comes  on." 

The  general  interests  of  the  country,  its  climate, 
its  productiveness,  demand  that  some  restriction  shall 
be  placed  upon  the  consumption  of  its  forests.  Either 
by  legal  enactment  or  by  public  opinion,  the  indiscrim- 
inate removal  of  our  forests  should  be  prevented.  We 
have  still  an  abundance  of  woodland  in  most  of  our 
states,  if  it  is  properly  cared  for,  if  its  use  and  con- 
sumption are  duly  regulated. 

In  Europe  the  care  and  preservation  of  forests  has 
long  been  a  matter  which  has  claimed  attention  and 
which  has  been  regulated  by  law.  The  effects  of  the 
indiscriminate  and  wholesale  cutting  of  the  forests  have 
been  felt  so  disastrously  that  self-preservation  has  be- 
come almost  dependent  upon  this  cutting  being  re- 
stricted and  upon  the  restoration  of  the  forests  where 
they  have  been  removed.  We  know  as  yet  compara- 
tively little  of  such  effects  in  our  country,  though  they 
are  manifest  enough  to  put  us  on  our  guard  and  lead 
us  to  take  measures  to  avoid  the  sad  experience  of 
the  countries  of  the  Old  World.  There  these  evil  ef- 
fects have  been  wrought  for  centuries,  and  any  one  who 
inquires  into  the  facts  in  regard  to  this  subject  cannot 


256  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE   LIFE. 

fail  to  be  surprised  at  the  record  of  losses  and  devasta- 
tions occasioned  bj  man's  wanton  interference  with  the 
world  in  which  he  lives.  Mr.  George  P.  Marsh,  our 
Minister  to  Italy,  has  given  much  attention  to  this  mat- 
ter, and  is  our  great  authority  in  regard  to  it.  His  book 
entitled  "  Man  and  Nature ;  or,  Physical  Geography  as 
Modified  by  Human  Action,"  is  a  treasury  of  facts 
upon  this  subject  and  a  most  interesting  work.  Mr. 
Marsh  says,  "  There  are  parts  of  Asia  Minor,  of  North- 
ern Africa,  of  Greece,  and  even  of  Alpine  Europe, 
where  causes  set  in  action  by  man  have  brought  the 
face  of  the  earth  to  a  desolation  as  complete  as  that  of 
the  moon,  and  yet  they  are  known  to  have  been  once 
covered  with  luxuriant  woods,  verdant  pastures,  and 
fertile  meadows ;  and  a  dense  population  formerly  in- 
habited those  now  lonely  districts.  The  fairest  and 
fruitfulest  provinces  of  the  Roman  Empire,  once  en- 
dowed with  the  greatest  superiority  of  soil,  climate, 
and  position,  are  completely  exhausted  of  their  fertil- 
ity, or  so  diminished  in  their  productiveness  as,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  favored  cases  that  have  escaped 
the  general  ruin,  to  be  no  longer  capable  of  affording 
sustenance  to  civilized  man.  If  to  this  realm  of  deso- 
lation we  add  the  now  wasted  and  solitary  soils  of 
Persia  and  the  remoter  East,  that  once  fed  their  mill- 
ions with  milk  and  honey,  we  shall  see  that  a  territory 
larger  than  all  Europe,  the  abundance  of  which  sus- 
tained in  bygone  centuries  a  population  scarcely  in- 
ferior to  that  of  the  whole  Christian  world  at  the 


PRESERVATION   OF  WOODLANDS.  257 

present  day,  lias  been  entirely  withdrawn  from  human 
use,  or,  at  best,  is  inhabited  by  tribes  too  few,  poor,  and 
uncultivated  to  contribute  anything  to  the  general, 
moral,  or  material  interests  of  mankind.  The  destruc- 
tive changes  occasioned  by  the  agency  of  man  upon  the 
flanks  of  the  Alps,  the  Apennines,  the  Pyrenees,  and 
other  mountain  ranges  of  Central  and  Southern  Europe, 
and  the  progress  of  physical  deterioration,  have  become 
so  rapid  that  in  some  localities  a  single  generation  has 
witnessed  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  melancholy 
revolution."  In  France,  for  example,  whole  districts 
have  been  ruined  for  agricultural  purposes  by  the  mass- 
es of  rocks  and  gravel  which  the  mountain  torrents,  re- 
sulting from  the  cutting-away  of  the  forests,  have  car- 
ried down  into  the  plains  below.  As  a  consequence 
the  people  have  been  obliged  to  migrate  to  other  and 
less  exposed  regions.  The  disastrous  floods  of  the  Po, 
a  river  about  the  size  of  our  Connecticut,  resulting  from 
the  removal  of  the  forests  on  the  Alps  and  Apennines, 
which  are  its  sources,  are  a  matter  of  frequent  occur- 
rence. The  European  nations  have  therefore  been 
compelled  to  give  serious  attention  to  the  subject  of 
forests  in  their  relation  to  agriculture  and  the  mainte- 
nance of  population,  as  well  as  to  health  and  salubrity 
of  climate.  The  necessity  of  preserving  and  restoring 
the  woodlands  has  become  imperative,  and  measures 
have  been  taken  accordingly.  Forestry,  or  the  science 
of  restoring  and  maintaining  a  proper  amount  of  for- 
ests, has  now  in  Europe  a  recognized  place  as  one  of 


258  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

the  most  important  concerns  of  the  state.  It  has  its 
schools  in  which  learned  professors  give  instruction  in 
the  art  of  growing  and  preserving  large  plantations  of 
trees.  Whole  libraries  of  books  have  been  published 
on  the  subject.  In  Germany,  1815  volumes  on  forestry 
were  published  prior  to  the  year  1842,  and  an  average 
of  one  hundred  volumes  are  published  annually  in  the 
German  language.  One  of  the  Spanish  Commissioners 
to  our  Centennial  Exhibition,  himself  a  forestral  en- 
gineer, has  prepared  a  list  of  treatises  on  forestry  pub- 
lished in  the  Spanish  language  alone,  which  amount  to 
more  than  eleven  hundred  in  number.  This  shows  the 
interest  which  this  subject  has  abroad. 

The  state  has  a  right  to  say  that  for  the  interests  of 
public  health,  the  highest  productiveness  of  the  soil, 
and  the  general  interests  of  the  people  as  a  whole,  a 
proper  proportion  between  its  forests  and  its  cleared 
lands  shall  be  preserved.  Careful  and  long- extended 
investigation  in  Europe  has  shown  that  this  proportion 
requires  that  from  one  fifth  to  one  fourth  of  the  land 
shall  be  kept  in  the  condition  of  forest.  In  this  coun- 
try, owing  to  a  difference  of  climate  and  other  consider- 
ations, it  is  probable  that  not  less  than  one  fourth  of  the 
land  should  remain  covered  with  trees.  In  some  of  our 
states,  the  eastern  and  southern  especially,  this  propor- 
tion is  preserved,  though  in  portions  of  these,  owing  to 
unequal  distribution,  there  is  a  deficiency  of  woodland. 
But  in  many  other  states,  particularly  those  of  the  Up- 
per Mississippi  Valley,  there  is  a  great  lack  of  forests. 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  259 

Happily,  the  extreme  scarcity  of  timber  in  those  states 
has  stimulated  the  settlers  there  in  many  cases  to  adopt 
measures  to  remedy  this  evil,  and  the  planting  of  trees 
has  been  taken  in  hand  so  vigorously  that  there  is  al- 
ready a  manifest  improvement,  and  the  traveller  is  often 
surprised  and  pleased  to  see  the  belts  of  quick-growing 
trees  surrounding  the  houses  and  portions  of  the  farms 
on  many  of  the  Western  prairies,  and  not  unfrequently 
large  groves  and  incipient  forests  which  promise  in  a 
few  years  to  bring  great  comfort  and  benefit  to  the 
people  living  there.  Nebraska  has  her  "  Arbor  Day," 
established  by  law,  a  rural  holiday,  observed  on  the 
10th  of  April  every  year,  on  which  the  people  are  in- 
vited to  give  themselves  to  the  planting  of  trees,  to 
which  they  are  also  stimulated  by  the  offer  of  premi- 
ums in  the  shape  of  a  remission  of  taxes  for  a  certain 
number  of  years,  proportioned  to  the  number  of  trees 
planted  and  preserved,  and  an  offer  by  the  State  Agri- 
cultural Society  of  one  hundred  dollars  to  the  Farmers' 
Society  of  the  county  which  plants  the  largest  number 
of  trees  on  that  day,  and  twenty-five  dollars  to  the  man 
who  individually  plants  the  most.  It  was  estimated 
that  more  than  a  million  trees  were  planted  in  1876 
on  Arbor  Day.  In  Missouri,  Illinois,  Iowa,  California, 
New  York,  Massachusetts,  Connecticut,  and  in  other 
states,  tree-planting  has  been  encouraged  by  law  or  by 
agricultural  societies.  It  would  be  a  good  and  pleas- 
ant thing  if  we  could  have  an  "  Arbor  Day  "  in  every 
state.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  in  many  respects  if, 


260  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

on  a  given  day  in  the  year,  designated  according  to  the 
climates  of  the  different  regions  of  our  country,  the 
people,  old  and  young,  and  of  all  classes,  were  to  be 
brought  out  for  the  purpose  of  planting  trees  both  for 
use  and  ornament. 

The  time  will  probably  soon  come,  also,  if  it  has  not 
come  already,  when  it  will  be  advisable  to  have,  in  con- 
nection perhaps  with  the  Department  of  the  Interior, 
a  commissioner  of  forestry,  who  will  do  for  us  what 
officers  of  that  name  have  done  for  European  countries. 
Through  such  a  commissioner,  or  by  some  other  appro- 
priate means,  we  need  to  have  the  importance  of  this 
subject  set  before  our  people  in  all  its  bearings.  Care 
for  our  woodlands  and  forests  is  now  one  of  our  most 
pressing  duties.  We  have  land  enough  already  cleared, 
even  in  rocky  New  England,  to  support  three  times  our 
present  population.  There  is  no  need  of  laying  bare 
any  more  of  the  soil.  If  wood  is  wanted,  whether  for 
fuel  or  for  the  purposes  of  building  and  the  arts,  let  the 
necessary  trees  be  culled  a  few  at  a  time  from  the  for- 
est, rather  than  sweep  off  the  wood  by  the  acre,  as  is 
now  so  often  done.  It  would  be  well  if  our  farmers, 
especially  those  living  near  cities  and  large  towns, 
would  make  sure  that  a  new  tree  is  planted  wherever 
an  old  one  is  cut  down.  In  this  way  our  supply  of 
wood  for  all  purposes  would  be  maintained.  Then  we 
might  hope  also  to  regain  one  of  our  lost  treasures — 
the  blazing  fire  upon  the  hearth.  It  is  enough  to  make 
one  sad  to  go  into  so  many  of  our  country  dwellings,  in 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  261 

regions  even  where  the  forests  are  most  abundant,  and 
find  the  old  fireplace  that  was  once  the  very  centre  and 
soul  of  the  house  now  shut  up  or  destroyed  in  some 
way,  and  the  family  grouped  and  simmering  around  a 
dull,  black  stove,  which  vomits  its  sulphurous  gases, 
perhaps,  from  every  joint,  poisoning  the  air  of  the 
dwelling — the  very  demon  of  unsociality  and  the  preg- 
nant mother  of  half  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to.  And 
all  for  what  ?  Because,  it  may  be,  the  farmer  can  sell 
his  wood  and  buy  coal  at  a  little  saving  of  money  at 
the  outset — but  with  the  risk  of  ill-health  and  large 
doctor's  bills  in  the  end — or  because  the  good  house- 
keeper thinks  there  will  be  some  lessening  of  dust  and 
sweeping  of  hearths  and  watching  of  fires  if  coal  is 
used  ;  and  so  the  sacred  fire  on  the  altar  of  home  is  put 
out.  Alas  that  it  should  be  so !  There  were  healthful 
influences  to  the  soul  as  well  as  to  the  body  coming 
from  the  old  blazing  fireplace.  It  was  a  moral  power 
in  the  household,  the  loss  of  which  money  cannot  make 
good. 

"We  are  confident,  also,  that  the  planting  of  trees 
where  there  is  now  a  scarcity  of  them,  and  even  in  oth- 
er places,  would  be  one  of  the  most  profitable  expendi- 
tures of  labor  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  as  well  as 
on  other  accounts  which  we  have  mentioned.  We  have 
already  abundant  evidence  that  in  those  western  states 
where  timber  is  scarce,  the  efforts  which  have  been 
made  to  secure  the  growth  of  trees  have  proved  among 
the  most  profitable  undertakings.  An  intelligent  tree- 


262  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

planter  in  Illinois  says  that  pine  and  larch  trees  attain 
a  height  of  thirty  to  thirty-five  feet,  with  a  diameter  of 
eight  to  twelve  inches  at  the  collar,  in  twelve  years. 
One  square  yard  to  each  would  admit  of  4840  trees  on 
an  acre.  He  proposes  to  plant  in  rows,  every  fourth 
tree  pine,  the  remainder  larches.  He  wronld  cut  out 
2400  larches  at  the  end  of  seven  years,  1200  more  at 
the  end  of  fourteen  years,  600  at  the  end  of  twenty-one 
years,  and  the  remainder  at  the  end  of  thirty  years, 
leaving  300  pines  twelve  feet  apart  each  way.  He  fig- 
ures the  yield  as  follows : 

2400  trees  fit  for  grape-stakes  at  5  cents $120 

1200      "     fit  for  fence-posts  (4000  at  25  cents)..      1000 

600      "     at   $3 1800 

300      "     at   $20 6000 

Product  in  thirty  years $8920 

Making  allowance  for  any  seeming  extravagance  in 
estimates  here,  enough  would  remain  to  show  a  good 
profit  on  the  value  of  the  land  and  the  labor  expended. 
The  whole  subject,  we  repeat,  deserves  careful  con- 
sideration. It  especially  deserves  the  attention  of  our 
agricultural  societies  and  of  the  state  and  national  gov- 
ernments. There  are  experiments  to  be  tried  which 
necessarily  reach  through  a  long  course  of  years.  Few 
individuals  have  patience  for  these.  Few  have  the 
knowledge  to  make  experiments  most  successful.  There 
are  encouraging  evidences  that  increasing  attention  is 
given  to  this  subject.  Already  there  is  a  forestry  as- 
sociation organized  in  Minnesota,  and  another  in  Ohio. 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  263 

Many  of  our  agricultural  societies  are  also  giving  spe- 
cial consideration  to  the  preservation  or  the  establish- 
ment of  forests.  The  Massachusetts  Society  for  the 
Promotion  of  Agriculture  has  given  its  attention  to  the 
subject  of  tree-planting.  It  has  offered  prizes  for  the 
planting  and  cultivation  of  forest  trees ;  and  in  connec- 
tion with  the  offer  has  published  a  pamphlet,  from  the 
pen  of  its  secretary,  Professor  C.  S.  Sargent,  Director  of 
the  Botanic  Garden  and  Arboretum  of  Harvard  Uni- 
versity, in  which  is  condensed  a  great  deal  of  informa- 
tion as  to  the  value  and  qualities  of  different  trees  and 
the  best  method  of  planting  them,  as  well  as  many  facts 
in  regard  to  the  influence  of  forests  upon  the  climate 
and  productiveness  of  a  country.  The  society  offers 
$1000  for  the  best  plantation  of  the  European  larch  or 
the  Scotch  or  the  Corsican  pine  of  not  less  than  five 
acres ;  $600  for  the  next  best,  and  $400  for  the  third 
best.  It  also  offers  $600  for  the  best  plantation  of 
American  white  ash  of  not  less  than  five  acres,  and 
$400  for  the  next  best.  The  awards  are  to  be  made 
ten  years  after  the  planting  of  the  trees. 

The  society  recommends  very  highly  the  European 
larch  and  the  Scotch  pine.  These  trees  are  now  plant- 
ed so  extensively  in  Europe  that  they  are  propagated 
in  immense  quantities  and  furnished  at  low  rates. 
Plants  of  the  Scotch  pine,  one  foot  in  height,  can  be 
imported  and  delivered  in  any  part  of  Massachusetts 
for  from  fifty  to  sixty  dollars  the  ten  thousand.  They 
can  be  procured  also  at  about  the  same  rate  from  Doug- 


264  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

las  and  Sons,  of  Waukegan,  111.,  who  have  been  engaged 
for  many  years  in  raising  and  planting  forest  trees. 
This  pine  is  a  rapid  grower  and  very  hardy,  growing 
where  the  white  pine  will  not  flourish.  Its  lightness 
and  stiffness  render  it  superior  to  any  other  kind  of 
timber  for  beams,  girders,  joists,  rafters,  and  indeed  for 
framing  in  general.  It  is  largely  used  for  railroad  ties, 
and  is  the  most  durable  of  all  pine  woods.  It  will  grow 
on  poor  soils  and  in  exposed  situations,  and  is  especially 
valuable  for  the  production  of  screens  and  wind-breaks 
about  fields  and  buildings. 

The  European  larch,  a  tree  quite  superior  to  the 
American  larch,  or  hackmatack,  as  it  is  often  called, 
is  beginning  to  be  imported  and  cultivated  in  this  coun- 
try, and  deserves  attention.  ~No  tree,  it  is  said,  is  capa- 
ble of  producing  so  large  an  amount  of  such  valuable 
timber  in  so  short  a  time  as  this.  It  is  one  of  the 
strongest  and  toughest  of  woods.  Hardly  any  other 
bears  so  well  exposure  to  the  trying  alternations  of  wet- 
ness and  dryness.  It  is  preferred  in  Europe  to  all  other 
woods  for  railroad  ties.  For  fencing  material  we  have 
no  wood  so  durable.  It  grows  readily  on  poor  soil,  if 
only  properly  drained.  Eecently  it  has  been  a  good 
deal  planted,  especially  in  the  West ;  and  we  have  some 
plantations  of  it  in  our  country  where  the  trees  have 
reached  the  height  of  fifty  feet,  and  proved  that  they 
can  be  easily  grown  in  our  climate  and  upon  our  soil. 
Twenty-five  years  or  more  ago,  in  the  endeavor  to  es- 
tablish some  profitable  cultivation  upon  the  sandy  and 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  265 

stony  waste -lands  of  Eastern  Massachusetts,  several 
plantations  of  considerable  extent  were  made,  and  oth- 
ers have  since  been  made  through  the  encouragement 
given  by  those  early  experiments.  In  the  year  1846, 
and  during  two  or  three  following  years,  Mr.  R.  S.  Fay 
planted  on  his  estate  near  Lynn  two  hundred  thousand 
imported  trees,  and  as  many  more  raised  directly  from 
the  seed.  Two  hundred  acres  were  thus  covered.  The 
sites  were  stony  hill-sides,  fully  exposed  to  the  winds 
and  destitute  of  any  good  soil.  A  variety  of  trees  were 
planted,  but  the  European  larch  was  principally  used. 
No  preparation  of  the  ground  was  undertaken.  The 
trees  were  inserted  with  the  spade,  and  no  after-care 
was  given  them  except  to  protect  them  from  fire  and 
browsing  animals.  Twenty-nine  years  after  the  trees 
were  planted  many  of  them  had  reached  a  height  of 
more  than  fifty  feet  with  a  diameter  of  twelve  inches 
or  more.  Seven  hundred  cords  of  firewood,  meantime, 
had  been  cut,  besides  all  the  fencing  needed  for  the 
large  estate.  Firewood,  fence-posts,  and  railroad  ties  to 
the  value  of  thousands  of  dollars  could  now  also  be  cut 
with  advantage  to  the  remaining  trees.  The  experi- 
ment has  been  abundantly  satisfactory  to  Mr.  Fay. 
Apart  from  the  value  of  the  wood  grown,  he  has  by 
means  of  his  planting  converted  his  land — at  the  outset 
not  worth  five  dollars  an  acre — into  a  plantation  fit  for 
the  production  of  any  crop  whenever  the  forest  is  re- 
moved. 

Similar  experiments  have  been  made  on  various  por- 
S 


266  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

tions  of  the  sterile  and  exposed  soil  of  Cape  Cod,  abun- 
dantly proving  that  the  Scotch  pine  and  the  European 
larch  especially  may  be  successfully  established  on  the 
poorest  soils  and  in  the  most  unfavorable  situations  to 
be  found  in  our  country.  The  results  are  conclusive  in 
regard  to  the  feasibility  and  profitableness  of  covering 
many  of  our  rocky  hill-sides  and  waste  or  worn-out  lands 
with  a  growth  of  timber.  It  is  estimated  that  eight 
million  dollars  might  be  added  annually  to  the  net  ag- 
ricultural product  of  Massachusetts  alone  by  replanting 
only  a  small  portion  of  its  poorest  lands  with  trees,  for 
trees  will  grow  where  no  other  crop  can  be  cultivated. 
Not  only  may  we  plant  with  the  larch  and  the  pine,  but 
with  other  woods  also  more  valuable  than  these  for 
some  purposes.  It  will  be  easy  to  cultivate  in  this  way 
the  butternut,  the  black  walnut,  and  the  ash — already 
so  much  used — not  only  for  the  manufacture  of  cabinet- 
work, but  coming  all  the  while  into  more  extensive  use 
for  the  interior  finish  of  dwellings.  To  these  may  be 
added  the  hickories,  the  beech,  the  birches,  the  common 
wild-cherry,  and  the  tulip  or  white-wood,  all  capable  of 
being  used  for  so  many  purposes.  The  ailanthus,  also, 
once  so  fashionable  as  an  ornamental  tree,  but  now  gone 
out  of  cultivation  because  of  the  unpleasant  odor  of  its 
blossoms,  is  found  to  be  one  of  the  most  valuable  tim- 
ber trees,  being  exceedingly  durable,  while  it  has  a 
beaut}r  of  grain  and  texture  which  fit  it  eminently  for 
use  in  cabinet-work  and  for  the  finish  of  houses. 

Nor  is  there  any  danger  that  the  supply  of  these  and 


PRESERVATION  OF  WOODLANDS.  267 

other  woods  will  outrun  the  demand  for  them  and 
make  their  cultivation  less  profitable  in  the  future  than 
it  is  now.  The  development  of  the  various  arts  among 
us  is  constantly  increasing  the  demand  for  the  different 
kinds  of  wood  to  be  made  into  articles  of  utility  and 
convenience,  as  well  as  those  which  are  merely  tasteful 
and  ornamental.  The  natural  increase  of  population 
calls  continually  for  an  increased  amount  of  wood  for 
the  ordinary  purposes  of  life — for  fuel  and  for  the  uses 
of  building.  And  then  there  is  a  constantly  increasing 
demand  for  our  lumber,  soft  and  hard,  for  export  to 
other  countries.  Many  of  our  woods  are  unknown  in 
the  forests  of  Europe,  and  are  much  sought  for  as  a  de- 
sirable addition  to  those  which  grow  there.  The  hick- 
ories are  not  natives  there.  The  white  ash  is  also  un- 
equalled for  many  purposes  by  any  European  tree,  and 
it  is  likely  to  be  in  great  demand  both  at  home  and 
abroad.  There  is  a  rapidly  increasing  export  trade  of 
ash  lumber  to  Europe,  Australia,  and  the  Pacific  coast. 
No  other  wood  equals  it  in  toughness  and  elasticity. 
It  is  therefore  specially  valuable  for  the  construction 
of  carriages,  for  the  handles  of  shovels,  hoes,  spades, 
rakes,  and  other  hand  implements.  It  is  preferred  to 
all  other  woods  for  the  manufacture  of  oars.  It  is  also 
coming  into  extensive  use  for  furniture  and  the  interior 
finish  of  houses.  As  an  ornamental  tree  for  shade  and 
roadside  planting,  few  trees  excel  the  ash.  There  is 
abundant  reason,  therefore,  to  think  that  the  planting 
and  cultivation  of  this  and  many  other  of  our  trees  will 


268  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

for  a  long  time  to  come  prove  to  be  one  of  our  most 
profitable  employments. 

The  Massachusetts  Society  for  Promoting  Agriculture,  in  offering 
prizes  for  the  cultivation  of  trees  on  a  large  scale,  gives  also- some  gen- 
eral directions  in  regard  to  the  planting  of  trees.  These  directions,  com- 
ing from  such  a  source,  may  of  themselves  stimulate  some  to  engage  in 
the  work  of  tree-planting,  and  so  we  give  them  here.  For  larch  and  pine 
trees,  it  recommends  that  when  the  nature  of  the  soil  will  permit,  shallow 
furrows  four  feet  apart  should  be  run  one  way  across  the  field  to  be  plant- 
ed (this  is  best  done  during  the  autumn  previous  to  planting) ;  then  by 
planting  in  the  furrows  and  inserting  the  plants  four  feet  apart  in  the  rows, 
the  whole  land  will  be  covered  with  plants  standing  four  feet  apart  each 
way.  Planted  at  this  distance,  2720  plants  will  be  required  to  the  acre. 
On  hilly  and  rocky  land,  which  is  especially  recommended  for  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  European  larch,  and  where  it  is  impossible  to  run  furrows,  it 
will  be  only  necessary  to  open  with  a  spade  holes  large  enough  to  admit  the 
roots  of  the  plants,  care  being  taken  to  set  them  as  near  four  feet  apart 
each  way  as  the  nature  of  the  ground  will  admit.  In  very  exposed  situa- 
tions on  the  sea-coast,  it  is  recommended  to  plant  as  many  as  5000  trees 
to  the  acre,  the  plants  being  inserted  more  thickly  on  the  outsides  of  the 
plantations  in  order  that  the  young  trees  may  furnish  shelter  to  each  other. 

It  is  imperative  to  plant  the  larch  as  early  in  the  season  as  the  ground 
can  be  worked.  No  other  tree  begins  to  grow  so  early  ;  and  if  the  opera- 
tion of  transplanting  it  is  delayed  until  the  new  shoots  have  pushed,  it  is 
generally  followed  by  the  destruction  of  the  plant. 

The  Scotch  and  Corsican  pines  can  be  planted  up  to  the  1st  of  May. 

Land  in  condition  to  grow  corn  or  an  average  hay-crop  is  suited  to 
produce  a  profitable  crop  of  white  ash.  Deep,  moist  land,  rather  than 
that  which  is  light  and  gravelly,  should  be  selected  for  this  tree.  The 
land  should  be  ploughed,  harrowed,  and  made  as  mellow  as  possible  dur- 
ing the  autumn  previous,  that  the  trees  may  be  planted  as  soon  as  the 
ground  can  be  worked  in  the  spring. 

As  soon  as  the  frost  is  out,  mark  out  the  field  with  furrows  four  feet 
apart,  and  insert  the  trees  two  feet  apart  in  the  rows.  This  will  give 
5445  plants  to  the  acre,  which,  at  the  end  of  ten  years,  must  be  thinned 
one  half.  These  thinnings  are  valuable  for  barrel-hoops,  etc. 

It  is  recommended  to  cultivate  between  the  rows  for  two  or  three  years, 
to  keep  down  the  weeds  and  prevent  the  soil  from  baking. 


PRESERVATION   OF  WOODLANDS.  269 

General  Directions  for  Tree-planting. — Be  careful  not  to  expose  the 
roots  of  trees  to  the  wind  and  sun  more  than  is  necessary  during  the  op- 
eration of  transplanting.  More  failures  in  tree-planting  arise  from  care- 
lessness in  this  particular  than  from  any  other  cause. 

To  prevent  this,  carry  the  trees  to  tlie  field  to  be  planted  in  bundles  cov- 
ered with  mats;  lay  them  down  and  cover  the  roots  with  wet  loam,  and 
only  remove  them  from  the  bundles  as  they  are  actually  required  for 
planting. 

In  planting,  the  roots  should  be  carefully  spread  out  and  the  soil  work- 
ed among  them  with  the  hand. 

When  the  roots  are  covered,  press  the  earth  firmly  about  the  plant  with 
the  foot. 

Insert  the  plant  to  the  depth  at  which  it  stood  before  being  trans- 
planted. 

Select,  if  possible,  for  tree-planting,  a  cloudy  or  a  rainy  day.  It  is  bet- 
ter to  plant  after  the  middle  of  the  day  than  before  it. 

All  young  plantations  must  be  protected  from  cattle  and  other  browsing 
animals — the  greatest  enemies,  next  to  man,  to  young  trees  and  the  spread 
of  forest  growth. 


270  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SCHOOLS   AND    SCHOOL-HOUSES. 

"  Yet  on  her  rocks,  and  on  her  sands, 
And  wintry  hills,  the  school-house  stands ; 
And  what  her  rugged  soil  denies, 
The  harvest  of  the  mind  supplies. 

"The  riches  of  the  Commonwealth 
Are  free,  strong  minds,  and  hearts  of  health ; 
And  more  to  her  than  gold  or  grain 
The  cunning  hand  and  cultured  brain. 

"For  well  she  keeps  her  ancient  stock, 
The  stubborn  strength  of  Pilgrim  Rock ; 
And  still  maintains,  with  milder  laws 
And  clearer  light,  the  Good  Old  Cause! 

"Nor  heeds  the  sceptic's  puny  hand, 
While  near  her  school  the  church-spire  stands; 
Nor  fears  the  blinded  bigot's  rule, 
While  near  her  church-spire  stands  the  school." 

WHITTIER. 

IF  there  are  any  outward  symbols  of  village  life,  par- 
ticularly in  New  England,  they  are  the  church  and  the 
school-house.  From  the  beginning  these  have  been  the 
most  conspicuous  structures  of  our  villages.  Wherever 
our  people  have  planted  themselves,  a  building  for  the 
purposes  of  worship  and  a  building  for  the  purposes  of 
education  have  been  among  the  first  things  thought  of 


SCHOOLS  AND  SCHOOL-HOUSES.  271 

and  planned  for.  And  as  the  tide  of  population  has 
rolled  westward,  it  has  carried  with  it  these  tokens  of 
New  England  life,  these  signs  of  its  peculiar  glory  and 
power.  Virtue  and  knowledge  have  been  the  corner- 
stones of  our  American  life.  It  was  a  vital  faith  in  a 
personal  God,  in  distinction  from  all  mere  professions 
and  ritualisms,  or  external  shows  of  religion,  which  sep- 
arated our  fathers  from  their  homes  in  the  mother  coun- 
try and  brought  them  to  what  was  then  a  wilderness ; 
and  it  was  the  conviction  that  knowledge  is  the  basis 
of  true  virtue,  as  ignorance  is  the  mother  of  superstition 
and  formalism,  which  led  them  to  cherish  from  the  first 
the  institutions  of  learning.  And  so  the  school-house 
ever  went  up  by  the  side  of  the  church,  or  "  meeting- 
house," as  it  was  called ;  and  the  minister  and  the  school- 
master were  the  highest  dignitaries  of  the  community. 
Those  structures  deserve  to  be  thought  of  with  venera- 
tion and  thankfulness  by  every  Christian  and  every  pa- 
triot, in  view  of  the  work  which  has  been  wrought  in 
them  and  the  great  benefit  which  they  have  been  to  the 
country  and  the  world.  What  influences  have  gone 
forth  from  those,  as  they  seem  to  us,  very  humble  and 
inartistic  buildings !  What  characters  have  been  nurt- 
ured in  them !  What  safeguards  have  they  been  to  the 
nation  against  the  blandishments  of  a  sensuous  and  cor- 
rupted civilization  and  the  seductiveness  of  religious 
formalism !  It  was  needful,  doubtless,  and  altogether 
best,  that  our  foundations  should  be  laid  deep  and  strong 
by  those  who,  in  their  reaction  from  the  corruptions 


272  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

which  prevailed  in  the  mother -country  two  centuries 
and  a  half  ago,  became  cast  in  the  stiff,  stern  mould  of 
a  puritanism  which  thought  little  of  external  graces, 
whether  in  habit  or  habitation,  but  made  the  inward 
spirit  and  life  everything.  We  should  not  have  grown 
to  our  present  stature  as  a  nation,  we  should  not  have 
held  the  high  place  we  do  among  the  nations,  if  our 
beginnings  had  been  shaped  by  a  less  rigid  spirit. 

The  old  village  church,  a  square,  uncouth  structure 
— a  "  meeting-house,"  rightly  called,  or  place  where  the 
people  might  meet  together — and  having  little  in  itself 
that  was  particularly  suggestive  of  worship  or  religious 
use,  was  commonly  perched  upon  the  top  of  the  highest 
hill,  where  it  could  be  seen  from  afar,  there  to  wrestle 
with  all  the  winds  and  storms  of  heaven.  Thither  the 
people  climbed,  with  almost  equal  difficulty,  wrhether  in 
winter  or  summer.  But  in  those  tempest-beaten  struct- 
ures on  the  hill-tops  they  learned  to  battle  also  with  the 
tempests  raging  in  the  soul,  and,  by  the  struggle,  to  grow 
strong;  and  they  carried  down  into  the  work  of  daily 
life  a  new  sense  of  the  invisible  and  the  spiritual  which 
went  with  them  in  all  their  occupations,  and  made  life 
noble,  if  it  was  somewhat  stern  in  aspect. 

The  school -house  was  another  "meeting-house," 
though  for  a  different  purpose.  And  yet  the  school 
was  almost  a  church — the  children's  church ;  for  the 
New  Testament  and  the  catechism  were  the  chief,  if 
not  the  only,  reading-books  of  that  day.  The  Sabbath- 
school  had  not  yet  come  with  its  abundant  religious  in- 


SCHOOLS  AND   SCHOOL-HOUSES.  273 

struction,  and  it  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  well-under- 
stood duties  of  the  parish  minister  to  be  a  regular  vis- 
itor at  the  school -house  and,  as  a  superintendent  of 
schools  by  a  divine  right  almost,  there  to  exercise  his 
function  at  his  will. 

The  school-houses  were  plain  structures  indeed.  They 
were  planted  here  and  there  with  no  regard  to  beauty 
in  themselves  or  their  surroundings.  Equality  of  rights 
demanded  that  they  should  be  as  nearly  as  possible  equi- 
distant from  all  who  were  to  have  the  benefit  of  them. 
If  this  carried  them  into  some  swamp  or  upon  some 
bleak  hill-side,  it  mattered  not.  There  was  little  thought 
of  comfort  or  pleasure  in  connection  with  school,  either 
on  the  part  of  parents  or  children.  Duty  and  drill  were 
the  two  simple  factors  in  the  scheme  of  education.  The 
softer  side  of  human  nature  was  little  touched.  The 
amenities  of  life  were  seldom  considered.  The  feelings 
and  tastes  were  hardly  recognized  as  having  existence, 
and,  of  course,  were  rarely  appealed  to.  Surrounded  by 
natural  objects  full  of  beauty  and  interest,  the  world 
ready  to  pour  its  treasures  of  knowledge  into  their 
minds,  the  children,  nevertheless,  hardly  knew  the  word 
"nature."  But  the  "three  R's"  taught  in  those  rude 
school  -  houses  —  taught,  however  imperfectly  —  have 
wrought  for  us  as  a  nation  what  is  beyond  estimate. 
We  may  almost  say  they  have  made  the  nation. 

All  honor  to  them  for  what  they  have  done.  But 
the  village  school-house  and  the  village  school  of  to-day 
are  not  so  far  in  advance  of  those  of  the  early  times  as 


274  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

they  should  be.  Our  dwelling-houses  have  begun  to 
assume  the  look  of  taste  and  adaptation  to  family  char- 
acter. The  old  square  structure,  with  its  one  huge  chim- 
ney rising  from  the  middle  of  its  roof,  its  clapboarded 
sides  painted  red,  or  not  painted  at  all,  has  given  place 
not  unfrequently  to  something  more  comely  and  con- 
venient, and  all  its  surroundings  often  show  the  marks 
of  taste  and  thoughtful  consideration.  But  our  school- 
houses  are  too  often  but  slight  improvements  upon 
those  of  primitive  times.  It  hardly  seems  possible, 
when  one  thinks  seriously  of  the  subject  of  education, 
that  the  people  of  our  villages  should  be  content  with 
the  structures  which  so  commonly  meet  the  eye,  and  in 
which  is  wrought  a  work  in  comparison  with  which — if 
it  is  what  it  purports  to  be — all  the  wrork  of  farm  and 
store  and  workshop  is  as  nothing.  It  is  a  shame  that 
we  should  permit  the  work  of  education  to  be  carried 
on  in  such  places  as  many  of  our  school-houses  are. 
The  work  of  moulding  the  human  mind,  of  drawing 
out  its  subtle  powers  and  developing  them  to  their  full 
stature  and  wondrous  beauty ;  the  culture  of  the  finer 
tastes  and  delicate  sensibilities  of  our  nature ;  the  forma- 
tion of  character — this  is  the  noblest  work  that  can  be 
done,  can  be  thought  of.  What  should  be  the  place  in 
which  it  is  wrought?  What  its  fittings -up  and  sur- 
roundings? If  we  are  ready  to  fashion  our  factories 
and  machine-shops  with  comeliness  of  proportion,  and 
even  to  put  upon  them  often  not  a  little  of  adornment, 
if  we  are  willing  to  expend  freely  upon  these  both 


SCHOOLS  AND  SCHOOL-HOUSES.  275 

money  and  taste,  what  should  be  the  character  of  the 
buildings  where  the  work  of  education  is  carried  on  ? 
Should  they  not  be  very  palaces  of  beauty?  Should 
they  not  be  the  architectural  gems  of  our  villages,  the 
very  crystallizations  of  our  utmost  care  and  taste? 
Should  they  not  be  made  attractive  and  adapted  to 
their  purpose  by  every  appropriate  comfort  and  con- 
venience ?  A  moment's  thought  would  seem  enough  to 
answer  these  questions  in  the  affirmative.  And  in  our 
cities  and  larger  towns  the  school-houses  have  begun  to 
assume  their  rightful  prominence  and  character.  They 
take  their  places  among  the  structures  which  have  some 
architectural  merit.  They  are  arranged  within  writh 
some  sense  of  fitness  and  adaptation  to  the  work  to  be 
done  in  them.  Here  and  there  also  in  our  villages  the 
same  is  true.  But  in  too  many  of  them  the  case  is 
quite  different.  In  how  many  places,  even  such  as  have 
some  pre-eminence  on  the  score  of  taste  and  enterprise, 
may  you  still  find  the  "old  red  school-house"  of  half  a 
century  ago !  It  is  a  low,  oblong  box  of  a  building, 
which  in  its  plan  had  no  reference  to  proportion,  and 
very  little  to  comfort.  It  was  designed  simply  to  fur- 
nish space  enough  for  a  certain  number  of  persons,  and 
its  dimensions  were  fixed  as  would  be  those  of  a  barn 
designed  to  contain  so  many  cattle,  only  probably  com- 
fort and  convenience  would  be  likely  to  be  considered 
more  in  the  latter  case  than  in  the  former.  Rude  seats 
and  desks  have  insured  constant  uneasiness  and  offered 
irresistible  temptations  to  the  jack-knives  of  the  boys. 


276  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

Then,  moreover,  this  architectural  nondescript  has  been 
daubed  with  a  hideous  red  pigment,  out  of  harmony  in 
color  with  every  object 'near  it,  having  the  sole  merit 
of  cheapness — the  cheapness  which  has  been  aimed  at 
throughout.  And  now,  to  crown  all,  cheapness  has  de- 
cided that  this  most  important  structure  in  the  whole 
town  shall  be  placed  on  some  vacant  bit  of  ground  left 
at  the  meeting  of  two  or  three  cross-roads,  or,  if  land 
has  been  purchased,  it  has  probably  been  just  enough  to 
be  covered  by  the  building  itself,  leaving  no  room  for 
playground  but  the  public  highway,  and  no  opportunity 
to  make  the  surroundings  of  the  school-house  in  any 
way  pleasant  or  attractive.  If  now  we  add  that  there 
is  no  place  for  the  storing  of  fuel,  but  that  through  the 
long  four  or  six  months  of  winter  the  pupils  are  de- 
pendent upon  the  comfort  which  they  can  get  from  a 
pile  of  green  or  refuse  wood,  dumped  upon  the  ground 
and  exposed  to  storms  of  rain  and  snow,  so  that  a  large 
part  of  the  school-hours  are  lost  to  study ;  and  then  if 
we  say  that  there  is  an  almost  total  absence  of  black- 

ft 

boards,  maps,  globes,  dictionaries,  and  other  apparatus, 
we  shall  have  described  in  a  general  way  the  too  prev- 
alent village  school-house. 

And  the  teaching  is  often  as  far  behind  the  real  de- 
mands of  the  time  as  is  the  school-house.  In  the  primi- 
tive and  colonial  days,  the  teachers  of  the  schools  were 
the  best  to  be  obtained.  The  position  of  school-teacher 
was  honorable,  and  the  best  which  the  time  afforded 
were  placed  in  this  office.  Now,  with  the  many  other 


SCHOOLS  AND  SCHOOL-HOUSES.  277 

occupations  which  are  open  to  the  enterprising  and  the 
qualified,  and  the  changed  condition  of  society,  teachers 
are  often  employed  on  the  ground  of  cheapness  or  per- 
sonal favoritism  rather  than  that  of  competency  for  the 
work  of  instruction.  School-teaching  is  often  made  a 
stepping-stone  to  something  else,  or  is  taken  up  as  a 
convenient  and  easy  way  of  earning  a  little  money  in 
the  cold  season  of  the  year,  when  other  kinds  of  em- 
ployment are  not  abundant,  or  during  the  years  that  lie 
between  youth  and  incipient  manhood  or  womanhood. 
The  teacher's  work  is  seldom  regarded  on  either  side  as 
a  permanent  employment.  The  people  do  not  look  for 
one  who  will  stay  among  them  for  years  and  carry  their 
children  along  in  a  steady  and  intelligent  course  of  in- 
struction. The  teacher  is  not  encouraged,  therefore,  to 
give  his  whole  soul  to  the  one  work  of  teaching,  and 
thereby  make  himself  an  accomplished  instructor.  And 
so,  while  there  are  some  schools  deserving  the  name, 
and  some  teachers  who  abundantly  honor  their  calling, 
too  many  of  both  are  far  from  being  what  they  should 
be. 

It  is  difficult  to  decide  what  to  say,  and  what  not  to 
say,  when  treating  a  theme  like  this  in  a  limited  com- 
pass. When  one  thinks  what  education  properly  is — the 
drawing  out,  e-duco,  what  is  in  the  young  mind,  rather 
than  the  pouring  into  it  of  anything  from  outside,  or 
the  recitation  of  any  number  of  memorized  lessons ;  that 
it  is  the  training  and  development  of  the  nice  percep- 
tive powers  and  the  cultivation  of  the  finest  feelings 


278  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

and  impulses  of  the  soul ;  in  short,  the  culture  of  the 
whole  man  in  its  germinant  state — one  can  hardly  keep 
his  patience  in  view  of  the  work  as  it  is  often  carried  on. 
All  honor  to  those  teachers  and  superintendents  of  pub- 
lic instruction  and  others,  some  in  almost  every  com- 
munity, who  are  giving  themselves  with  so  much  ear- 
nestness, and  patience  at  the  same  time,  to  the  noble  en- 
deavor to  make  our  schools  what  they  should  be.  If 
any  deserve  our  gratitude  and  thanks,  they  do.  If  any 
are  true  benefactors  of  their  country  and  their  kind, 
these  are  they.  In  time  to  come  many  will  think  of 
their  work  with  gratitude,  and  will  bless  them  for  what 
they  have  done  to  make  their  life  happy  and  useful. 
Already  the  fruit  of  their  work  is  seen. 

But  much  yet  remains  to  be  done  for  most  of  our 
schools,  both  without  and  within.  The  school -house 
should  be  a  model  of  taste  and  architectural  beauty,  so 
that  it  may  be  itself  an  instrument  for  the  culture  of 
taste  in  the  children.  It  should  be  surrounded  with 
wTell-arranged  and  well-kept  grounds,  and  in  this  respect 
compare  favorably  with  the  best  private  grounds  of  the 
neighborhood.  There  should  be  pleasant  walks  leading 
up  to  the  school-house  and  around  it,  and  shady  bowers, 
and  borders  of  beautiful  flowers,  and  climbing  vines,  and 
abundant  trees,  and  room  enough,  besides,  for  an  ample 
playground  in  the  rear.  Can  any  one  say  why  the 
whole  village  or  district  should  not  combine  to  make 
the  place  where  all  their  children  assemble  together  to 
spend  a  large  part  of  their  time,  during  the  most  im- 


SCHOOLS  AND   SCHOOL-HOUSES.  279 

pressible  period  of  their  lives,  more  pleasant  and  beauti- 
ful than  any  single  dwelling-place  among  them  ?  Why 
should  they  not  lavish  upon  it  their  thought  and  care 
and  money,  and  adorn  it  within  and  without,  so  that  the 
feet  of  the  children,  instead  of  loitering  on  the  way  to 
school,  as  is  now  so  often  the  case,  should  linger  rather 
as  they  go  from  it  when  the  day  is  ended  ?  With  such 
surroundings  of  the  place  of  education  as  we  have  sug- 
gested, how  many  lessons  of  the  best  kind,  and  touching 
the  most  important  points  of  character  and  culture, 
might  the  teacher  instil  into  young  minds  and  hearts 
when  walking  with  them  amid  such  objects !  Nay,  how 
many  such  lessons  would  get  into  the  hearts  of  the 
young  without  any  aid  of  the  teacher,  infused  into  them 
by  the  silent  teachings  of  the  place  itself !  The  influence 
would  be  altogether  and  unspeakably  healthful,  shaping 
the  life  and  character  permanently  for  good.  Twenty 
years  or  more  ago,  the  proprietors  of  some  of  the  great 
factories  at  Lowell  planted  the  grounds  around  their 
mills  with  shrubs  and  flowering  plants,  and  trained  vines 
upon  the  walls.  The  work-people  of  the  factories  were 
told  that  these  were  designed  for  their  gratification,  and 
the  only  restraint  put  upon  the  operatives  in  regard  to 
them  wras  a  placard  standing  up  amid  the  flowers  on 
which  were  inscribed  the  words,  "  Let  us  grow."  And 
we  have  it  on  the  testimony  of  one  of  the  managers 
that  not  a  flower  was  plucked  except  by  the  one  who 
had  the  care  of  the  grounds.  Shall  we  do  less  for  our 
children  than  for  the  operatives  in  our  mills  ? 


280  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

And  if  children  see  that  such  things  are  designed  for 
their  benefit,  and  thus  are  made  to  feel  a  personal  in- 
terest in  them,  nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  they 
will  care  for  them  and  guard  them  from  injury.  How 
easy,  in  this  way,  it  would  be  to  bring  up  our  children 
to  cherish  and  care  for  all  beautiful  things,  instead  of 
being,  as  they  now  too  often  are,  their  wanton  destroy- 
ers! 

And  then,  why  should  there  not  be  corresponding  ed- 
ucational influences  within  the  school-room  also  ?  Why 
should  not  all  be  beautiful  and  tasteful  there?  Why 
should  not  pleasant  pictures  be  hung  upon  the  walls  as 
well  as  the  skeleton  maps  which  now  are  often  their  only 
adornment,  if  adornment  they  can  be  called?  And 
now,  happily,  we  have  respectable  works  of  art  within 
the  reach  of  the  smallest  village  school.  If  we  cannot 
command  the  picture  fresh  from  the  painter's  easel,  we 
have  chromos  and  engravings  and  autotypes  which  may 
safely  be  employed  in  their  place,  and  which  are  afford- 
ed very  cheaply.  Suppose  our  school  committees,  or 
some  person,  were  to  offer  as  a  prize  for  best  scholar- 
ship or  best  deportment  a  fine  picture,  or  one  of  Rogers's 
admirable  groups,  only  stipulating  that  the  prize,  instead 
of  being  taken  home  by  the  successful  competitor,  to  be 
hidden  away  in  some  spare  room,  shut  up  for  most  of 
the  year,  and  so  its  influence  lost,  should  remain  in  the 
school-room  as  the  property  of  the  school,  to  be  seen 
daily,  and  to  be  a  daily  educating  force  as  well  as  a 
source  of  most  refined  pleasure.  If  such  prizes  were  to 


SCHOOLS  AND   SCHOOL-HOUSES.  281 

be  given  from  year  to  year  in  our  schools,  how  soon 
would  the  school-houses  become  galleries  of  beauty  and 
taste !  What  refining  influences  would  they  exert  upon 
our  children !  Then,  if  supplementing  these  means  of 
culture,  the  teachers  were,  once  a  week  perhaps,  dur- 
ing the  pleasanter  seasons  of  the  year,  to  shut  up  the 
books  and  the  school -room,  and  take  their  pupils  out 
into  the  woods  and  fields,  and  cultivate  their  perceptive 
powers  and  their  sensibilities  by  bringing  them  thus  face 
to  face  with  nature,  teaching  them  to  observe  and  love 
the  living  things  with  which  the  Creator  has  stored 
the  world,  how  much  would  be  gained  for  the  real  pur- 
poses of  education !  Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that  the  day 
is  at  hand  when  we  shall  see  some  advancement  made 
in  this  direction  ? 

T 


282  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE   LIFE. 


CHAPTEK  XXIII. 

THE    VILLAGE    CHUKCH. 

"  The  Sabbath-day,  the  Sabbath-day, 

How  softly  shines  the  morn  ! 
How  gently  from  the  heathery  brae 

The  fresh  hill-breeze  is  borne ! 
Sweetly  the  village  bell  doth  toll, 

And  thus  it  seems  to  say, 
Come  rest  thee,  rest  thee,  wear}'  soul, 
On  God's  dear  Sabbath-day!" 

BLACKIE. 

IF  there  is  any  place  which  should  be  peculiarly  dear 
to  the  people,  it  would  seem  to  be  the  village  church. 
It  stands  as  the  representative,  arid  also  the  instrument, 
of  what  is  above  all  other  things  in  value — the  spiritual 
welfare  of  the  people.  All  secular  and  material  inter- 
ests are  of  little  importance  in  comparison  with  this. 
They  are  temporary  ;  this  is  eternal.  The  place  where 
the  soul  and  its  interests  are  specially  ministered  to, 
the  place  where  the  people  meet  to  offer  their  worship 
to  God  and  to  be  instructed  in  respect  to  their  relations 
to  him,  it  would  seem  that  they  would  cherish  with  ut- 
most regard,  and  bestow  upon  it  their  most  scrupulous 
care.  It  would  seem  that  they  would  be  ready  and 
eager  to  make  the  place  of  worship — the  building  which 


THE   VILLAGE  CHURCH.  283 

they  call  "  the  house  of  God,"  and  dedicate  to  him — in 
its  structure  and  position,  worthy  of  its  high  character 
and  important  uses.  It  might  well  be  supposed  that 
they  would  bring  to  it  all  that  their  wealth  and  care 
could  do  to  make  it  what  it  should  be,  that  all  the  re- 
sources of  the  builder's  art  would  be  brought  into  req- 
uisition, and  all  the  adornments  which  the  best  taste 
and  the  warmest  and  most  devout  feeling  could  supply 
would  be  lavished  upon  it.  It  might  be  expected  that 
the  most  beautiful  and  commanding  spot  would  be  se- 
lected for  its  site,  so  that  the  worshipper,  as  often  as  he 
might  go  up  to  the  place  or  catch  the  sight  of  it  from  a 
distance,  would  be  moved  to  exclaim  with  the  Psalmist, 
"  Beautiful  for  situation  is  Mount  Zion." 

One  would  naturally  expect,  also,  that  when  the  doors 
of  such  a  place  were  thrown  open  at  the  appointed 
times  of  worship,  it  would  be  thronged  by  old  and 
young,  all  classes  and  conditions,  ready  to  pour  forth 
their  grateful  offerings  of  prayer  and  praise  to  the 
Sustainer  of  their  daily  life  and  the  Source  of  their 
hope  of  life  eternal.  It  would  seem  that  here  they 
would  gather  with  joy  and  gladness,  and  that  all  the 
services  would  be  engaged  in  with  manifest  heartiness 
and  delight. 

In  some  instances  these  expectations  are  realized  in  a 
good  measure ;  often,  however,  the  case  is  far  otherwise. 
The  ordinary  village  church  is  distinguished  from  the 
mass  of  buildings  around  it  chiefly  by  its  larger  dimen- 
sions and  a  certain  conventional  structure  or  appendage 


VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

rising  from  its  roof  and  commonly  called  a  steeple.  It 
is  usually  constructed  of  wood,  and  with  its  clap-board 
sides,  pierced  with  two  or  three  times  as  many  windows 
as  are  at  all  needful,  it  has  a  thin,  frail  look,  as  though 
the  whole  thing  was  meant  for  only  temporary  use  and 
was  expected  soon  to  pass  away.  It  is  built  with  little 
regard  to  proportion  or  any  beauty  of  form,  and  is  fre- 
quently a  positively  unsightly  object.  Then,  to  make 
the  matter  worse,  it  is  very  likely  to  be  coated  with 
glaring  white  paint,  out  of  harmony,  of  course,  with  all 
objects  near  it,  unless  it  be  the  neighboring  houses, 
which  probably  have  the  same  chalky,  dazzling  hue. 

The  building,  thus  flimsy  and  disproportioned,  and 
staring  in  its  ugliness,  is  perhaps  erected  on  some  bare 
and  unprotected  hill-top,  that  it  "  may  be  seen  of  men," 
or  is  set  down  at  a  junction  of  roads,  or  in  some  other 
equally  unattractive  place,  like  a  huge  boulder  lodged 
there  by  chance.  Not  a  tree,  it  may  be,  is  planted  near 
to  shield  from  sun  or  storm,  or  help  to  give  pleasant- 
ness to  the  spot.  ~No  well-kept  walks  or  shaven  sward 
indicates  any  thoughtful  care  for  the  surroundings  of 
the  house  of  God,  nor  does  any  adequate  enclosure 
guard  them  from  unwelcome  intrusion,  but  the  stray- 
ing cattle  quite  likely  make  their  pasture  up  to  the 
very  steps  of  the  sanctuary. 

So  much  for  the  outward  aspect  of  the  place.  And 
now  if  one  goes  within,  the  appearance  is  equally  unat- 
tractive. A  square  box  of  a  room  presents  itself,  with 
ranges  of  straight-backed  and  most  uncomfortable  pews, 


THE  VILLAGE  CHURCH.  285 

having  seats  too  narrow  for  adults  to  keep  their  places 
upon  them  with  any  ease,  and  too  high  for  half  the  oc- 
cupants to  touch  the  floor  with  their  feet.  The  walls, 
of  course,  are  cold  and  cheerless  with  their  white  plas- 
tering, unless  they  have  been  fouled  with  sinoke  from 
leaky  stove-pipes,  or  disfigured  by  some  paper  fresco 
or  imitation  of  marble  or  granite,  which  is  probably 
peeled  off  in  spots  to  make  the  sham  perfectly  appar- 
ent. The  honest  wood-work  of  pine,  which,  left  to  it- 
self, would  have  taken  on  a  richer  tone  of  color  from 
year  to  year,  has  had  the  usual  misfortune  of  falling 
under  the  hands  of  the  grainer,  to  be  daubed  over  in 
imitation  of  oak  or  some  more  valuable  wood,  and  so, 
but  that  the  imitation  is  so  poor  that  no  one  is  de- 
ceived by  it,  the  house  of  the  God  of  truth  is  converted 
into  a  glaring  falsehood.  Dingy  carpets,  or  no  carpets 
at  all,  cover  the  floor.'  Two  lines  of  black  stove-pipe 
extend  from  end  to  end  of  the  room,  a  disfigurement  at 
the  best,  and  dripping  their  dark  creosote  stains  upon 
walls  and  floors.  The  light  pours  in  from  the  unshield- 
ed and  too  numerous  windows  in  such  profusion  as  to 
be  oppressive,  or  streams  in  crosswise  through  the  inter- 
stices of  the  half-open  shutters  like  a  thousand  Lillipu- 
tian darts,  no  one  of  which,  by  itself,  might  be  of  seri- 
ous effect,  but  in  the  combination  producing  a  general 
uneasiness  and  discomfort  only  the  worse  because  so 
few  discern  its  real  cause.  And  now  if  we  add  the  fact 
that  there  is  so  seldom  any  adequate  provision  for  ven- 
tilation, and,  therefore,  during  the  larger  portion  of  the 


286  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

year,  when  the  warmth  does  not  induce  the  opening  of 
the  windows,  the  people  are  lulled  into  somnolence  or 
something  worse  by  the  vitiated  atmosphere  breathed 
over  and  over,  the  average  house  of  worship  is  seen  to 
be  as  unattractive  within  as  it  is  without. 

If  we  turn,  now,  from  the  character  of  the  place,  and 
consider  the  character  of  what  is  done  in  it,  what  will 
be  the  conclusion  ?  The  place  is  called,  of  course,  a 
house  of  worship.  But  how  much  of  worship  is  there 
in  the  place,  or  is  there  really  expected  to  be?  What 
incentives  or  helps  to  worship  do  the  attendants  find  ? 
There  is  certainly  little  in  the  aspect  or  furnishing  of 
the  place  to  excite  devotional  feelings,  little  to  suggest 
the  thought  of  the  Divine  Presence,  or  that  the  place  is 
designed  for  any  use  special  and  peculiar.  The  people 
assembled,  they  find  a  rostrum  at  one  end  of  the  build- 
ing, at  which  the  clergyman  officiates  in  the  offering  of 
prayer,  acting  simply  as  the  mouthpiece  of  the  assem- 
bly, they  being  expected  to  make  the  prayer  each  one 
his  own  by  a  mental  and  hearty  adoption  of  the  uttered 
words.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  half  the  assembly  at 
least  will  often  be  found  paying  no  attention  to  this 
part  of  the  service.  Their  heads  are  not  even  lowered 
in  outward  token  of  devotion  ;  their  eyes  are  in  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  or  studying  the  fashion  of  the  dress 
in  the  next  pew ;  their  thoughts  are  upon  their  busi- 
ness or  pleasure. 

Praise  is  a  part  of  divine  worship.  It  is  an  eminent- 
ly fit  expression  of  soul  for  every  human  being.  But, 


THE  VILLAGE  CHLKCH.  287 

iiistead  of  being  the  united  and  accordant  act  of  the 
whole  assembly,  this  is  usually  left  to  a  company  as  far 
removed  as  possible  from  the  minister,  perched  up  in  a 
loft  by  themselves,  behind  the  congregation,  and  allow- 
ed, for  the  most  part,  to  perform  what  musical  or  non- 
musical  pranks  and  outrages  they  please  in  the  name 
of  worship.  And  so  we  have  quartet  choirs  in  our 
village  churches,  and  solos  and  operatic  airs,  and  at- 
tempts at  musical  effect  which  result  only  in  musical 
failure,  and  too  frequently  dissipate  devotional  feeling 
and  give  us  third-rate  Sunday  concerts  in  place  of 
honest  aids  to  worship.  One  of  the  worst  things 
about  it  is  also  that  good,  sensible,  and  pious  people 
are  deceived  into  the  belief  that  this  sort  of  tiling  is 
worship  or  a  part  of  worship,  instead  of  being  only  a 
desecration  of  the  place  and  name  of  worship. 

Nearly  all  that  is  left,  therefore,  is  the  sermon,  and 
whatever  there  is  of  worship  must  be  found  in  the  de- 
vout feeling  involved  in  listening  to  the  exposition  of 
the  divine  word,  or  that  which  is  aroused  by  its  ex- 
hibition. The  preaching  of  the  word  has  been  the 
distinguishing  feature  of  our  religious  services  from 
the  beginning.  Our  forefathers  made  it  so,  in  the 
natural  reaction  from  the  faults  and  defects  of  the 
establishment  in  England ;  and  it  has  since  held  a  dis- 
proportionate place,  perhaps,  as  compared  with  other 
acts  of  worship.  The  people  have  gone  to  hear  ser- 
mons rather  than  to  pour  out  their  hearts  to  God  in  de- 
vout confession,  supplication,  and  thanksgiving.  The 


288  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

intellect  has  been  fed  or  gratified  at  the  expense  of 
the  heart,  and  our  religion  has  been  made  overmuch 
an  intellectual  matter.  The  people  have  come  to  the 
church  to  be  entertained  rather  than  to  worship.  They 
have  been  drawn  thither  by  the  intellectual  attraction 
of  the  preacher  rather  than  by  their  sense  of  duty  to 
God  or  the  impulses  of  devout  feeling.  This  has  been 
demoralizing  both  to  minister  and  people.  The  former, 
feeling  that  he  could  keep  his  place  only  by  his  ora- 
torical attractions,  has  often  been  led  to  convert  his  pul- 
pit into  a  platform  for  ministerial  mountebaukism,  and 
the  people  have  too  frequently  encouraged  this  by  re- 
warding it  with  the  largest  salaries  and  the  most  pro- 
fuse reports  in  the  daily  newspapers.  This  evil  is  not 
confined  to  our  city  congregations.  It  has  infected, 
more  or  less,  many  of  the  country  churches.  More  and 
more  they  are  seeking  for  the  sensational  style  in  their 
ministers.  They  want  a  metropolitan  star  in  their 
pulpit,  and  sobriety,  fidelity,  and  even  piety  are  at  a 
discount.  "He  don't  fill  the  bill,"  is  the  business- 
like judgment  of  some  country  tradesman  or  little 
politician  who  has  occasionally  spent  a  Sunday  in  New 
York,  when  the  minister  does  not  convert  his  church 
into  a  lyceum  or  a  theatre,  and  pander  to  the  love  of 
novelty  and  excitement.  And  if  he  "  don't  fill  the 
bill,"  the  minister  must  understand  that,  as  they  say 
at  Washington,  "  his  resignation  will  be  acceptable," 
though  he  were  a  John  or  a  Paul.  Such  is  the  de- 
moralized condition  of  our  churches  at  this  day,  so 


THE  VILLAGE  CHURCH.  289 

loose  our  ideas  and  practice  in  regard  to  the  relation 
of  ministers  and  people,  that  it  is  in  the  power  of  two 
or  three  dissatisfied  persons  so  to  disturb  the  tranquilli- 
ty of  a  parish  as  to  effect  the  dismission  of  a  minister 
at  any  time.  The  relation  of  a  pastor  to  his  flock  is 
of  the  loosest  character.  A  system  of  terrorism  widely 
prevails.  A  minister's  peace  and  continued  usefulness, 
and  the  quiet  and  comfort  of  the  parish,  are  at  the 
mercy  of  any  meddlesome  and  opinionated  tinker  or 
garrulous  old  woman,  whether  of  one  sex  or  the  other. 
The  minority  governs  rather  than  the  majority.  The 
result  of  all  this  is  that  the  clergy  of  all  denominations 
have  become  itinerant,  like  the  Methodists.  Three 
years  is  about  the  average  length  of  pastorates,  whether 
in  one  denomination  or  another,  and  our  parishes  are 
much  of  the  time  in  an  unsettled  state.  The  relation 
of  the  pastor  to  the  parisli  has  been  reduced,  in  many 
parishes,  to  one  of  an  almost  purely  commercial  char- 
acter. The  minister  has  become  a  hireling,  and,  what- 
ever may  be  the  religious  considerations  avowed  or  the 
religious  forms  made  use  of,  he  is  really  engaged  and 
dismissed  on  grounds  of  the  same  moral  quality  as 
those  which  govern  the  engagement  of  Bridget  in  the 
kitchen  or  Patrick  on  the  farm.  If  he  can  fill  the  pews 
and  thereby  raise  his  own  salary  at  the  smallest  cost 
to  the  individual  pew-holder,  it  is  well ;  otherwise  the 
conclusion  is  inevitable  that  "  his  usefulness  is  at  an 
end." 

And  now,  having  drawn  this  picture  of  what  is  too 


290  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE   LIFE. 

often  seen,  let  us  sketch  a  different  one,  whick  is  some- 
times realized,  and  might  be  more  frequently  than  it  is. 
In  the  centre  of  the  village,  or  on  some  choice  spot  of 
ground  near  by  and  accessible  to  all — not  upon  a  bleak 
hill-top,  but  upon  some  sheltered  slope,  nor  thrust  out 
upon  the  dust  or  noise  of  the  highway,  but  withdrawn 
from  it  upon  its  own  enclosure  with  the  modesty  and 
partial  seclusion  which  befit  the  religious  feeling  — 
stands  the  village  church.  With  a  proper  sense  of 
the  abiding  need  of  the  Gospel,  and  its  sufficiency  for 
the  wants  of  any  community  to  the  end  of  time,  it 
is  built  of  enduring  stone,  which  very  likely  was 
found  upon  the  spot  or  near  by,  and  not  of  perish- 
able wrood.  ~No  attempt  has  been  made  to  erect  a  Gre- 
cian temple  in  miniature,  or  a  Gothic  cathedral  in  lath 
and  plaster,  or  a  structure  modelled  after  any  of  the 
five  orders  of  architecture.  No  burdensome  outlay  of 
expense  has  been  made  in  the  nice  hewing  or  carving 
of  the  stone.  It  is  laid  up  in  the  rough,  as  it  came 
from  its  native  bed,  except  perhaps  the  jambs  of  doors 
and  windows,  which  are  smoothly  cut.  But  the  work 
is  done  with  honest  and  conscientious  fidelity.  A 
pleasing  effect  is  sought,  not  from  elaborate  ornament 
and  useless  appendages,  but  from  a  harmonious  dispo- 
sition of  parts  and  a  just  proportion  reigning  through- 
out the  structure.  The  building  is  not  piled  high  in 
the  air,  having  a  stilted  and  unstable  look ;  it  is  not  in 
the  cubical  dry-goods-box  form,  and  so  ranking  with 
the  stores  and  work-shops  around,  and  having  an  equal- 


THE  VILLAGE   CHURCH.  291 

ly  secular  look.  But  the  walls  are  low  and  the  requi- 
site elevation  within  is  gained  by  a  somewhat  sharp 
pitch  of  the  roof,  which,  while  it  secures  protection 
from  the  beating  storms,  also  forms  a  proper  grada- 
tion of  line  for  the  modest  steeple  or  spire,  which  ap- 
pears naturally  to  spring  from  it.  The  whole  structure 
thus  seems  to  rise  out  of  the  ground  and  lift  itself  up, 
as  spontaneously  as  the  trees  around  it,  towards  the 
heavens.  It  is  the  fit  symbol  of  religion,  having  its 
foundations  upon  the  earth,  man's  dwelling-place,  amid 
his  sins  and  wants ;  its  altar  where  he  may  reach  it  and 
cling  to  it  while  he  prays ;  its  spire  ever  pointing  him 
towards  the  source  of  his  hope  and  help,  and  the  home 
of  his  redeemed,  regenerated,  and  glorified  life. 

Along  the  rough  walls,  which  offer  a  ready  holding- 
place  for  their  fingers,  and  over  the  slated  roof  which 
suggests  no  fear  of  decay  on  account  of  their  presence, 
climb  the  graceful  vines,  which,  in  fitting  harmony, 
symbolize  the  Great  Head  of  the  Church,  the  True 
Vine,  and  shed  over  this  simple  house  of  worship  a 
beauty  which  no  chisel  of  the  most  cunning  workman 
could  ever  have  given  it.  And  there  it  stands  amid 
the  embowering  trees,  as  lovely  as  themselves,  an  at- 
tractive object  to  all  eyes. 

Going  within,  all  is  found  in  harmony  with  the  ex- 
ternal appearance.  No  great  expanse  of  cubical  space 
above  makes  one  feel  lost  in  vacancy.  No  stretch  of 
cold  white  wall  and  ceiling  chills  the  feeling  at  the  out- 
set; but  the  low  walls  and  roof  give  a  homelike  and 


292  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

household  feeling  at  once.  Subdued  and  pleasing  tints 
of  color  everywhere  meet  the  eye.  The  windows  are 
modestly  colored,  and  the  light  comes  in,  not  in  dazzling 
and  distressing  streams  from  unprotected  openings,  but 
diffused  throughout  the  building  with  mellow  and  rest- 
ful radiance.  The  pulpit  or  reading-desk  is  not  perch- 
ed high  above  the  people,  but  is  only  a  step  removed 
from  them,  and  the  choir  and  organ  have  their  appro- 
priate place  by  the  side  of  the  pulpit.  Minister  and 
choir  being  thus  near  each  other  and  among  the  people, 
the  latter  recognize  the  fact  that  they  are  leaders  in  the 
various  acts  of  worship,  and  not  performers  come  into 
church  to  play  their  part,  whether  in  oratory  or  music. 
Hymns  of  devout  feeling  are  sung,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  familiar  tunes  and  the  subdued  and  modest 
notes  of  the  organ,  and  the  hearts  and  voices  of  the 
whole  congregation  go  out  together  in  grateful  praise, 
mindful  of  the  words  of  the  inspired  Psalmist,  "  Let 
the  people  praise  thee,  O  God ;  let  all  the  people  praise 
thee."  When  the  invitation  to  pray  is  given,  the  heads 
of  all  present  are  bowed  with  becoming  reverence  and 
propriety ;  and  no  one  could  doubt  that  this  is  a  pray- 
ing assembly.  The  common  sins  are  confessed,  the 
common  wants  are  uttered,  the  common  pardon  is 
sought,  and  the  common  adoration  is  expressed.  The 
people  not  only  listen  to  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures, 
but  they  read  them  together,  old  and  young  uniting 
their  voices  in  repeating  the  words  of  life. 

These  acts  of  worship  having  been  engaged  in,  not  in 


THE  VILLAGE   CHURCH.  293 

a  hurried,  perfunctory,  and  formal  manner,  but  in  full 
measure  and  with  devout  feeling,  now  comes  the  office  of 
instruction.  This  gives  occasion  for  the  sermon,  which 
is  no  display  of  intellectual  gymnastics  or  strange  con- 
ceits, but  a  sober  and  affectionate  unfolding  of  the  word 
of  God,  and  an  earnest  effort  to  guide  the  people  in  the 
way  of  true  living.  There  is  no  parade  of  learning, 
though  it  is  full  of  the  best  fruits  of  learning.  There 
is  no  lack  of  strength,  but  it  is  strength  guided  by 
gentleness  and  love.  Over  all  and  through  all  there  is 
the  blending  of  sincerity  and  earnestness,  of  sweet  and 
affectionate  interest  in  the  flock,  which  the  minister, 
true  to  the  name  of  pastor,  is  seeking  to  lead  in  green 
pastures  and  beside  the  still  waters  of  salvation.  Old 
and  young  listen  with  attention  and  interest,  as  to  one 
whom  they  regard  as  their  guide  and  friend.  The  ser- 
mon ended,  a  blessing  upon  the  word  is  asked,  a  hymn 
is  sung,  and  with  the  benediction  the  congregation  go 
home,  not  to  admire  or  criticise  the  preacher,  but  to 
ponder  his  words  and  try  to  profit  by  them,  and  to 
feel  that  the  gates  of  Zion  are  precious. 

Such  is  the  village  church  as  we  sometimes  see  it,  as 
we  might  see  it  almost  everywhere  if  our  little  sectarian- 
isms were  laid  aside  and  religion  had  its  proper  place  in 
our  regard.  Such  a  church  is  indeed  the  centre,  and  ap- 
propriate centre,  of  the  place  where  it  is  found.  It  is  the 
people's  home.  There  they  meet  together  as  one  fami- 
ly. It  is  the  strongest  bond  of  social  life,  the  strongest 
bond  and  instrument  of  all  that  is  best  and  most  pre- 


294:  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

cious.  The  longer  it  stands,  the  more  precious  it  be- 
comes. As  generation  after  generation  worship  within 
its  walls,  it  gathers  new  value  from  many  associations. 
It  becomes  dear  to  the  children  because  parents  and 
grandparents  have  worshipped  in  it,  or  have  been  car- 
ried out  to  burial  from  it  with  Christian  triumph  and 
in  hope  of  a  glorious  resurrection.  As  a  portion  of 
the  villagers  go  out  to  dwell  in  other  places  from  time 
to  time,  with  the  precious  memories  of  the  old  church 
of  their  early  days  go  precious  influences  also  to  hold 
them  to  rectitude  and  virtue;  and  as  often  as  they  may 
return  to  the  place  of  their  nativity,  there  is  no  spot, 
save  the  parental  dwelling,  to  which  they  turn  with 
such  interest  and  affection  as  this.  And  so  the  village 
church  stands,  the  sign  and  monument  of  all  that  is 
sweetest  and  dearest  and  best.  Individuals  and  fami- 
lies and  generations  may  pass  away,  but  the  old  church 
remains,  growing  more  and  more  dear  with  the  lapse  of 
time,  as  its  walls  gather  a  more  mellow  and  a  richer 
tone  of  color  from  the  storms  and  sunshine  of  each 
passing  year.  The  people  take  pleasure  in  the  stones 
thereof.  It  speaks  to  the  eye  continually  of  all  that  is 
most  beautiful  and  best,  and  from  its  altar  and  pulpit 
within  continually  go  forth  the  precious  teachings  of 
life  and  immortality.  It  is  the  abiding  source  of  ele- 
vating, purifying,  and  ennobling  influences  which  give 
to  village  and  village  life  their  highest  charm. 


THE   VILLAGE   LIBRARY.  295 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

THE    VILLAGE    LIBRARY. 

"  Consider  what  you  have  in  the  smallest  chosen  library.  A  company 
of  the  wisest  and  wittiest  men  that  could  be  picked  out  of  all  civil  coun- 
tries, in  a  thousand  years,  have  set  in  best  order  the  results  of  their  learn- 
ing and  wisdom.  The  men  themselves  were  hid  and  inaccessible,  soli- 
tary, impatient  of  interruption,  fenced  by  etiquette ;  but  the  thought  which 
they  did  not  uncover  to  their  bosom  .friend  is  here  written  out  in  trans- 
parent words  to  us,  the  strangers  of  another  age." — EMERSON. 

FROM  the  first  our  people  have  been  a  reading  people 
— a  people  of  books.  The  early  settlers  of  New  Eng- 
land had  a  firm  conviction  of  the  importance  of  the 
knowledge  and  culture  which  come  from  books — from 
communion  with  educated  minds.  It  was  the  boast  of 
the  early  churches  of  New  England  that  they  had  schol- 
ars for  their  ministers,  men  who  were  the  masters  of 
the  one  book  that  stands  above  all  others,  and  who  were 
also  familiar  with  the  best  learning  of  the  times.  Many 
of  them  were  graduates  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  and 
it  was  not  long  after  the  settlement  at  Plymouth  that 
the  foundations  of  a  university  were  laid  in  a  new  Cam- 
bridge. The  story  of  the  founding  of  Yale  College, 
taking  that  name  only  at  a  later  date  in  honor  of  one 
of  its  principal  benefactors,  is  also  familiar :  how  a  com- 


296  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

pany  of  Connecticut  clergymen  carne  together,  moved 
by  the  true  spirit  of  scholars,  and,  bringing  their  contri- 
butions from  their  own  libraries,  laid  them  down,  declar- 
ing that  they  gave  those  books  for  the  founding  of  a 
college.  We  see  with  constantly  increasing  admiration 
what  that  seed  planted  in  the  early  times  has  brought 
forth. 

The  fathers  of  our  country  had  a  wholesome  fear  of 
ignorance,  as  the  mother  of  superstition  and  crime. 
From  religious  and  moral  considerations,  therefore,  they 
favored  schools  and  books,  and  the  learning  and  culture 
which  come  from  them.  In  the  early  times,  there  was 
a  library  in  the  parsonage,  if  nowhere  else.  But  there 
were  also  libraries  elsewhere ;  and,  considering  the  lim- 
ited resources  of  the  people  at  that  time,  and  the  dif- 
ficulty of  procuring  books,  they  were  quite  numerous. 
The  books  were  apt  to  be  largely  of  a  theological 
and  philosophical  character.  They  were  of  the  solid 
sort,  with  not  much  of  light  literature  among  them. 
But  many  of  our  foremost  men  have  been  ready  to 
attribute  their  power  and  their  success  in  life  to  the 
knowledge  and  training  which  they  gained  through  the 
reading  of  those  solid,  if  somewhat,  dry,  volumes  in  the 
ample  old  chimney-corner — perhaps  by  the  light  of  a 
pine -knot  which  took  the  place  of  a  candle,  the  ex- 
pense of  which  could  not  be  afforded. 

In  these  days,  when  we  hear  the  clang  of  the  print- 
ing-press in  every  considerable  town,  and  newspapers 
are  flying  around  us  almost  as  abundantly  as  the  au- 


THE   VILLAGE  LIBRARY.  297 

tumn  leaves,  it  is  difficult  to  realize  such  a  state  of 
things.  But  too  many  of  the  leaves  that  come  from 
our  innumerable  presses  are  as  ephemeral  and  unsub- 
stantial as  those  of  the  trees.  While  we  have  books 
and  magazines  and  newspapers  which  are  worthy  of 
any  time  and  any  society,  a  large  part  of  those  in  cir- 
culation are  so  trashy  that  it  is  a  waste  of  time  to  read 
them ;  while  many  are  so  immoral  that  their  reading 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  pernicious.  There  is  danger 
that  both  time  and  character  will  be  wasted  by  these, 
for  the  young,  in  their  ignorance  and  inexperience,  are 
especially  liable  to  be  influenced  by  the  weakest  and 
worst  kind  of  reading.  They  are  peculiarly  exposed 
to  harm  at  a  time  of  life  when  they  are  most  impress- 
ible, and  .when  injury  received  is  likely  to  be  perma- 
nent. Among  the  most  desirable  social  and  moral  in- 
fluences, therefore,  especially  in  our  villages,  is  that  of 
a  good  public  library,  a  well-selected  collection  of  books 
constantly  accessible.  Hardly  anything  else  can  be 
named  which  will  do  so  much  for  our  children,  which 
will  so  train  them  to  proper  habits  of  reading,  secure  a 
desirable  choice  of  books,  furnish  them  with  valuable 
knowledge  for  all  the  purposes,  of  life,  cultivate  the 
taste,  and  at  the  same  time  supply  sources  of  most 
pleasant  and  healthful  entertainment. 

School  libraries  are  very  useful,  and  many  of  our 
states  have  made  a  wise  and  ample  provision  for  them. 
Their  establishment  deserves  to  be  encouraged  in  every 
school  district  of  the  land.     But  they  are  only  the  be- 
ll 


298  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

ginning  or  foundation  of  something  better.  Their  very 
existence  and  the  work  which  they  do,  instead  of  en- 
abling us  to  dispense  with  a  town  or  village  library, 
make  the  greater  occasion  for  it.  The  school  library 
can  hardly  grow  beyond  certain  narrow  limits.  When 
these  are  reached,  if  not  before,  there  will  be  a  manifest 
need  of  something  larger  and  better.  How  shall  that 
larger  and  better  library  be  secured?  In  establishing 
a  village  library,  it  is  essential  to  success  that  proper 
provision  be  made  to  insure  its  continued  growth  by  the 
constant  addition  to  its  shelves  of  the  most  desirable 
books  which  are  published  from  year  to  year.  If  such 
additions  are  not  made,  the  library  will  soon  become  a 
dead  thing,  though  it  may  have  books  which  are  among 
the  treasures  for  all  time.  It  will  cease  to  be  attractive, 
and  soon  its  volumes  will  be  shut  away  from  sight  or 
scattered  one  by  one ;  and  the  library  as  such,  and  for 
the  proper  uses  of  a  library,  will  become  extinct.  Many 
town  and  village  libraries  have  thus  disappeared — 
enough  to  discourage,  oftentimes,  the  attempts  to  found 
new  ones. 

The  secret  of  success  in  founding  a  library  is  to  give 
it  a  good  start.  The  aim,  therefore,  should  be  to  secure 
as  large  a  fund  as  possible  before  any  purchase  of  books 
is  made.  A  library,  to  insure  that  it  will  be  properly 
taken  care  of  and  its  growth  secured,  needs  to  be  so 
large  at  the  outset  as  to  make  upon  the  people  on  whom 
it  is  to  depend  for  its  support  and  growth  the  impres- 
sion that  it  is  worth  caring  for  and  deserving  to  have 


THE  VILLAGE  LIBRARY.  299 

its  growth  assured.  Many  libraries  have  been  started 
with  the  right  feeling  and  with  a  sufficiently  good  selec- 
tion of  books,  but  the  number  of  volumes  has  been  so 
small  as  to  be  hardly  noticed  except  by  a  few  greedy 
lovers  of  books.  The  number  of  books  being  thus 
small,  they  have  not  seemed  of  sufficient  importance 
to  insure  a  place  of  keeping  by  themselves,  or  a  libra- 
rian to  take  proper  care  of  them.  They  have  had  to 
go  a-begging  for  a  place  of  deposit.  This  has  been,  per- 
haps, a  corner  of  the  post-office  or  of  the  village  store, 
or  they  have  been  reluctantly  taken  in  at  some  farm- 
house. In  either  place  they  have  been  so  hidden  from 
sight  as  to  make  little  impression  on  the  public,  and 
out  of  sight  they  are  soon  likely  to  be  out  of  mind; 
the  public  soon  cease  to  use  them ;  no  contributions  are 
made  for  the  purpose  of  adding  to  their  number ;  the 
care  becomes  simply  neglect — that  is,  they  are  left  to 
take  care  of  themselves.  And  so  the  experiment  of 
founding  a  library  ends  in  failure. 

Jt  would  be  much  better,  if  those  who  feel  the  impor- 
tance of  a  library  in  any  of  our  villages  cannot  secure 
money  enough  to  start  upon  a  liberal  and  somewhat  im- 
posing scale  at  once,  that  they  should  fund  the  subscrip- 
tions for  a  few  years,  until  they  have  accumulated  suf- 
ficiently to  make  a  purchase  of  books  in  such  number 
as  to  insure  success.  The  library  had  better  be  in  the 
shape  of  money  than  books  until  there  can  be  books 
enough  to  give  the  library  assured  life.  It  is  hardly 
safe  to  start  with  fewer  than  a  thousand  volumes,  and 


300  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

two  thousand  would  be  better.  The  moment  that  such 
a  library  is  thrown  open  to  the  people,  it  will  make  a 
strong  impression  upon  them.  Most  of  the  villagers 
have  probably  never  seen  a  thousand  volumes  in  one 
place  before.  And  now,  to  think  that  all  these  are  for 
their  use  gives  them  the  sense  of  something  valuable 
as  well  as  the  sense  of  something  new.  They  feel  that 
these  books  are  worth  protection.  They  are  moved  to 
make  additional  contributions,  if  need  be,  in  order  to 
provide  the  requisite  place  for  their  safe-keeping.  They 
feel,  too,  that  some  one  must  be  secured  to  act  as  libra- 
rian, to  care  for  the  books  and  promote  their  circulation. 
They  will  be  willing  to  pay  for  this  needed  service. 
The  library  becomes  at  once  a  conspicuous  thing  in  the 
village;  it  is  the  chief  thing  talked  about.  Its  books 
are  soon  found  on  the  tables  and  shelves  of  all  the  vil- 
lage houses.  Young  and  old  are  interested,  and  find 
something  to  their  taste.  A  new  source  of  entertain- 
ment has  been  brought  into  the  town.  There  is  a  new 
element  of  interest  pervading  the  community.  The 
evening  lamp  and  the  evening  fireside  have  a  new 
charm.  Conversation  is  quickened  with  new  topics  of 
interest,  and  the  whole  village  life  has  a  new  impulse 
imparted  to  it.  Even  those  least  familar  with  books,  ex- 
cept, perhaps,  those  which  they  have  read  at  school,  feel 
that  in  the  library  something  noble  and  dignified  has 
been  added  to  their  village  possessions,  and  they  point  to 
it  with  pride.  Thus  a  new  educating  force  is  established 
in  the  community,  supplementing  and  adding  efficiency 


THE  VILLAGE  LIBRARY.  301 

to  all  other  educational  appliances.  The  little  village 
is  brought  into  contact  with  all  the  best  thinking  of  the 
world;  and  the  humblest  toiler  on  the  roughest  farm 
may  be  a  daily  companion  of  the  wisest  and  most  gifted 
of  all  ages.  Such  is  the  office  of  books ;  such  the  value 
of  a  good  library  to  any  community.  Its  advantages, 
direct  and  indirect,  are  incalculable,  and  they  are  within 
the  reach  of  the  smallest  of  our  villages. 

Perhaps  a  brief  sketch  of  the  origin  of  one  of  these 
village  libraries,  and  the  mode  of  managing  it,  may  be 
a  help  to  the  founding  of  others.  In  a  certain  New 
England  town,  not  many  years  ago,  a  few  persons, 
lovers  of  books,  and  most  of  them  possessors  of  re- 
spectable libraries,  became  desirous  to  establish  a  pub- 
lic library,  that  they  might  enlarge  their  own  range  of 
reading,  and  have  their  fellow -townsmen  share  with 
them  the  many  benefits  of  books.  While  carefully  con- 
sidering the  ways  and  means  of  starting  this  important 
enterprise — their  own  resources  being  small — a  liberal- 
minded  person  offered  to  give  one  thousand  dollars  for 
the  immediate  purchase  of  books,  and  another  thousand, 
the  interest  of  which  should  be  appropriated  to  the  an- 
nual increase  of  the  library,  on  condition  that  a  thou- 
sand dollars  should  be  given  by  others  for  it,  and  a 
suitable  building  should  be  provided  for  its  safe-keep- 
ing. Stimulated  by  this  unexpected  aid,  the  citizens 
soon  subscribed  nearly  twice  the  prescribed  sum.  Con- 
tributions were  welcomed  from  the  poorest,  and  in  the 
smallest  sums;  for  those  who  had  the  matter  in  hand 


302  '  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

were  aiming,  from  the  outset,  to  get  the  whole  com- 
munity interested,  and  they  felt  that  there  was  no  surer 
way  to  gain  one's  interest  in  the  library  than  by  getting 
a  money  pledge  to  it. 

Thus  far  all  went  well,  and  a  committee  was  soon 
diligently  at  work  in  preparing  a  list  of  the  most  de- 
sirable books  for  purchase.  The  only  difficulty  now  in 
the  way  was  the  providing  of  a  suitable  building  for 
the  library.  To  secure  the  money  requisite  for  its  pur- 
chase or  erection  was  not  easy  after  making  such  liberal 
subscriptions  for  books.  But,  almost  before  any  pledges 
had  been  made  for  this  purpose,  a  lady  gave  a  valuable 
piece  of  land  for  a  site,  and  another  generous  person 
offered  to  erect  the  building  at  his  own  cost.  The  li- 
brary was  now  assured,  and  there  was  left  for  consider- 
ation only  the  question  of  management.  How  should 
it  be  made  of  widest  use  and  greatest  benefit  to  the  vil- 
lage ?  How  should  be  met  the  expense  incident  to  man- 
agement, the  needful  addition  of  books,  and  the  replace- 
ment of  those  which  would  be  all  the  while  wearing 
out?  The  interest  of  the  fund  of  a  thousand  dollars 
would  not  be  sufficient.  Should  a  charge  be  made  of  a 
small  sum  for  each  book  taken  ?  It  was  felt  that  even 
the  charge  of  a  few  cents  might  be  enough  to  pre- 
vent those  not  accustomed  to  books,  or  who  had  not  a 
taste  for  them,  from  visiting  the  library  and  using  its 
books;  and  it  was  one  of  the  prime  motives  for  the 
establishment  of  the  library  to  reach  and  benefit  just 
this  class  of  persons.  It  was  resolved,  therefore,  by  the 


THE   VILLAGE  LIBRARY.  3Q3 

managers  to  appeal  to  the  town  to  recognize  the  library 
as  an  institution  for  the  general  benefit,  and  to  make  an 
appropriation  from  its  treasury  for  its  partial  support, 
on  condition  that  the  library  should  be  free  to  all.  The 
appeal  was  made,  and  after  only  a  little  debate  a  very 
liberal  appropriation  was  secured. 

In  due  time  the  library  building  was  completed,  and 
thrown  open  to  the  public  with  two  thousand  well- 
chosen  volumes  on  its  shelves)  and  a  reading-room  well 
supplied  with  magazines  and  papers.  It  was  a  marked 
and  memorable  day  in  the  history  of  the  village.  The 
people  felt  at  once  that  they  had  a  treasure  worth  pre- 
serving. The  library  became  the  centre  of  interest  to 
the  community.  Its  books  went  by  twos  and  threes  to 
all  the  village  homes,  and  by  favor  even  over  the  bor- 
ders into  the  adjacent  towns. 

It  was  hardly  expected  by  any,  at  the  outset,  that  the 
library  would  be  opened  to  the  public  more  than  once 
in  each  week ;  but  the  same  spirit  which  led  the  found- 
ers to  establish  the  library  with  the  design  of  making 
it  useful  to  the  largest  extent  made  them  resolve  to 
have  it  open  so  constantly,  if  possible,  that  there  should 
be  no  impediment  on  this  score  to  its  fullest  and  freest 
use.  Accordingly,  they  determined  that  it  should  be 
opened  on  every  afternoon  of  the  week  except  Sunday 
and  Monday.  It  has  thus  been  open,  with  a  lady  acting 
as  librarian,  at  a  charge  not  too  great  for  the  funds  pro- 
vided by  the  town ;  and  from  the  beginning  it  has  been 
cherished  by  the  people  with  increasing  regard.  Its 


304  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

books  have  been  widely  read ;  its  stores  are  constantly 
added  to,  and  its  reading-room  is  the  village  exchange, 
where  young  and  old  meet  daily  in  the  pleasantest  and 
most  social  way.  And  so  the  library  has  become  a  bond 
of  union  and  good  feeling  to  the  entire  community,  and 
is  constantly  elevating  and  improving  the  tone  of  so- 
ciety, and  making  the  place  where  it  is  a  better  place 
in  which  to  live. 

Such  a  library  may  be  the  adornment  and  blessing  of 
any  of  our  villages.  The  secret  of  success  lies,  as  we 
have  said,  in  a  good  start,  a  vigorous  and  general  effort 
at  the  outset,  insuring  such  a  number  of  books  as  will 
make  the  library  an  object  of  interest  at  once  and 
something  worth  caring  for. 

And  how  many  desirable  things  for  the  improvement 
of  village  life  naturally  group  themselves  around  such 
an  institution !  how  many  things  to  make  country  life 
bright  and  happy !  Such  a  library  will  appropriately 
give  origin  to  reading  circles  in  different  portions  of  the 
town,  where  some  book  will  be  read  aloud  and  its  con- 
tents be  familiarly  discussed,  thus  forming  pleasant 
neighborhood  reunions.  Debating  societies  will  natu- 
rally spring  up  in  connection  with  it.  It  will  fall  with- 
in the  province  of  the  managers  of  such  an  institution 
to  establish  courses  of  lectures  from  year  to  year,  and 
to  provide  this  kind  of  entertainment  and  instruction 
for  the  people.  These  may  be  varied  by  occasional  con- 
certs, of  such  a  character  as  will  displace  the  low  min- 
strelsy of  travelling  troups  and  noisy  vulgar  buffoons, 


THE  VILLAGE   LIBRARY.  395 

who  often  find  our  villages  rich  harvest-places  to  them, 
because  nothing  better  is  offered,  and  the  natural  yearn- 
ing for  amusement  leads  the  people  to  such  empty 
performances.  A  village-library  association  may  very 
properly  establish  dramatic  entertainments  of  an  unob- 
jectionable character,  and  thus  minister  to  one  of  the 
strongest  instincts  of  our  nature,  while  affording  one  of 
the  highest  pleasures  which  man  can  enjoy.  It  would 
not  be  amiss,  either,  if,  in  connection  with  the  library, 
there  were  a  room  where  games  of  skill — like  chess — 
might  be  engaged  in,  and  pleasant  conversation  might 
be  carried  on,  with  accompaniment  of  coffee,  ices,  and 
fruits  in  their  season — thus  becoming  a  place  of  resort 
which  would  attract  many  who  otherwise  might  spend 
their  leisure  time  in  places  fraught,  more  or  less,  with 
temptations  to  evil,  or  where  their  companions  would 
not  be  of  a  beneficial  character. 

The  library-room,  as  was  the  fact  in  the  case  of  the 
library  we  have  mentioned,  might  also  serve  as  a  mu- 
seum, by  gathering  along  with  the  books — in  appropri- 
ate cases,  to  preserve  them  from  injury — any  curiosities, 
heirlooms,  or  objects  illustrating  the  history  of  the  vil- 
lage; portraits  of  its  eminent  citizens;  specimens  of 
minerals  or  birds  and  other  animals  abounding  in  the 
place  ;  in  short,  anything  of  interest,  whether  to  old  or 
young.  Every  village  might  thus  have  its  museum. 

In  these  and  other  ways,  it  is  easily  seen  a  village 
library  may  be  the  source  and  centre  of  many  most 
desirable  adjuncts  of  village  life.  We  must  not  be 


306  VILLAGES   AND    VILLAGE   LIFE. 

over-scrupulous  about  means  and  methods.  A  library 
association  in  the  country  may  do  much  that  it  would 
shrink  from  doing  in  the  city.  It  may  fitly  do  all  that 
a  village-improvement  society  would  properly  do ;  and 
it  can  easily  do  much  to  remove  the  dulness  which 
characterizes  many  of  our  country  places,  and  to  enliven 
and  purify  and  elevate  the  tone  of  life. 


WORK   AND   PLAY.  307 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

WORK   AND   PLAY. 

"  How  often  have  I  blest  the  coming  day 
When  toil  remitting  lent  its  turn  to  play, 
And  all  the  village  train,  from  labor  free, 
Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree; 
While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade, 
The  young  contending  as  the  old  surveyed  ; 
And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the  ground, 
And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round ! 
And  still  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tired, 
Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired; 
The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought  renown 
By  holding  out  to  tire  each  other  down  ; 
The  swain  mistrustless  of  his  smutted  face, 
While  secret  laughter  tittered  round  the  place : 
The  bashful  virgin's  sidelong  looks  of  love, 
The  matron's  glance  that  would  those  looks  reprove — 
These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village!  sports  like  these, 
With  sweet  succession,  taught  e'en  toil  to  please." 

GOLDSMITH. 

"  Let  the  world  have  their  May-games,  wakes,  whitsunals  ;  their  danc- 
ings and  concerts;  their  puppet-shows,  hobby-horses,  tabors,  bag-|>ipi>~. 
balls,  barley-breaks,  and  whatever  sports  and  recreations  please  them  be*t, 
provided  they  be  followed  with  discretion." — BURTON:  Anatomy  of  Mel- 
ancholy. 

WE  are  the  hardest-worked  people  in  the  world.  By 
all  our  antecedents,  by  all  our  history,  the  people  of  this 
country  seem  to  be  started  in  life  as  under  a  doom  of 


308  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE   LIFE. 

work.  Work,  with  us,  takes  almost  the  place  of  a  relig- 
ion. The  alternative,  and  the  only  alternative,  is  com- 
plete idleness.  And  so  society  is  broadly  divided  into 
two  classes — those  who  are  all  the  while  toiling  and 
those  who  are  idle.  You  see  everywhere  men  rush- 
ing and  driving  at  full  speed,  ready  to  run  down  all 
opposition  and  dash  over  every  obstacle  to  their  plans; 
and,  on  the  other  tyand,  a  class  of  idlers — men  with 
their  hands  in  their  pockets  or  pipes  in  their  mouths, 
perhaps  both,  sauntering  about  with  no  apparent  ob- 
ject in  view,  merely  living,  animated,  but  as  the  snails 
and  sloths  are  animated. 

Those  old  Puritans,  weary  of  the  frivolities  of  their 
time  and  the  neglect  of  all  serious  and  important  things, 
came  to  think  that  everything  in  the  nature  of  sport 
and  play  was  of  the  devil.  So  they  denounced  it,  and 
for  themselves  lived  lives  of  austere  labor,  and  left  it  as 
a  legacy  to  their  posterity.  Starting  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic  a  new  society  with  this  legacy,  and  having,  in 
addition,  the  difficulties  attendant  upon  a  new  settlement 
in  a  new  world,  separated  by  three  thousand  miles  from 
all  other  people,  from  the  first  we  have  been  given  up 
to  work  as  the  one  law  of  life,  as  no  people  before  ever 
were.  So  ingrained  is  the  feeling  with  us  that  life  is 
work,  that  when  we  do  turn  aside  from  our  work,  and 
give  ourselves  to  play,  as  nature  impels  us  to  at  times, 
our  play  is  generally  of  a  laborious  sort — work  again, 
only  under  another  name.  Our  sports  are  not  light  and 
graceful,  but  toilsome.  They  are  not  free,  but  we  seem 


WORK  AND  PLAY.  309 

to  be  under  some  constraint  in  them  all  the  while,  and 
as  though  taking  a  respite  from  work  under  protest. 

Now,  this  feeling  is  unnatural.  We  are,  as  to  this, 
like  insane  persons,  who  think  that  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  are  lunatics  and  they  alone  are  sane.  "Work  is 
not  the  normal  condition  of  life,  but  rather  play.  No 
one  likes  to  work,  no  one  chooses  to  work,  except  as  he 
sees  this  to  be  the  condition  or  means  of  a  superior  end 
which  he  seeks.  One  may,  indeed,  after  long  years  of 
toil  feel  uneasy  unless  he  is  engaged  in  work  of  some 
kind.  But  this  is  a  morbid  state  of  the  man.  If  he  had 
given  the  play  element  of  his  nature  proper  scope  all 
along  the  way  of  life,  he  would  never  have  come  into 
such  a  diseased  condition. 

If  we  would  see  the  true  state  of  the  case,  let  us  look 
at  children  and  at  all  the  animal  tribes.  The  child's  life 
is  all  play,  and  would  continue  so  but  for  the  necessity 
which  comes  to  most,  after  a  time,  to  engage  in  labor  of 
some  sort  and  to  some  extent  in  order  to  provide  for  the 
many  needs  of  civilized  life.  Work  comes  to  the  child, 
as  it  does  to  the  cattle,  as  a  necessity.  No  boy  likes  to 
be  put  to  his  tasks  at  school.  When  he  has  grown  to 
manhood,  his  love  of  knowledge  may  lead  him  to  find 
play  in  an  amount  of  study  which  was  formerly  only 
a  drudgery  and  a  task.  And-  one  difficulty  with  our 
schemes  of  education  thus  far  has  been  that  they  have 
not  brought  the  play  element  into  exercise  in  connection 
with  study  as  they  might  have  done ;  that  is,  have  not 
made  the  processes  of  education  such  as  to  interest  the 


310  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE    LIFE. 

mind  and  draw  out  its  impulses  and  energies  in  a  spon- 
taneous devotion  to  knowledge.  The  Kindergarten  sys- 
tem, on  this  account,  seems  the  nearest  approach  we  have 
yet  made  to  a  proper  educational  method.  "We  want 
more  of  education  through  the  senses,  as  distinguished 
from  that  which  is  merely  of  the  intellect.  As  says  the 
author  of  "  Rab  and  his  Friends,"  "  the  great  thing  with 
knowledge  and  the  young  is  to  secure  that  it  shall  be 
their  own — that  it  be  not  merely  external  to  their  inner 
and  real  self,  but  shall  go  in  succum  et  sanguinem  •  and 
therefore  it  is  that  the  self-teaching  that  a  baby  and  a 
child  give  themselves  remains  with  them  forever — it  is 
of  their  essence ;  whereas  what  is  given  them  ab  extra, 
especially  if  it  be  received  mechanically,  without  relish 
and  without  any  energizing  of  the  entire  nature,  re- 
mains pitifully  useless  and  wersh.  .  .  .  Now  exercise — 
the  joy  of  interest,  of  origination,  of  activity,  of  excite- 
ment— the  play  of  the  faculties — this  is  the  true  life  of 
a  boy,  not  the  accumulation  of  mere  words."  The  nat- 
ural sciences  are  full  of  interest  to  the  young  as  well  as 
to  the  old,  and  the  mind  finds  play  as  well  as  work  in 
the  study  of  them.  Therefore  in  our  schools,  especially 
those  in  the  countay,  there  should  be  taught  the  ele- 
ments of  botany  and  of  the  art  of  agriculture.  If  less 
attention  were  given  to  general  geography  and  more  to 
the  local  geography  of  the  scholar's  own  town  or  school 
district,  there  would  be  a  great  gain  upon  the  system 
usually  pursued.  If  our  teachers  had  enough  of  proper 
knowledge  to  be  able  to  take  their  pupils  out  from  time 


WORK   AND   PLAY.  31 1 

to  time  into  the  fields  and  make  them  conversant  first 
with  the  geological  and  mineralogical  character  of  the 
country  immediately  around  the  school-house,  and  then 
with  the  plants  and  trees,  so  that  the  children  would 
feel  acquainted  with  them  and  be  able  to  recognize  them 
at  sight,  and  be  interested  in  noting  their  various  habits 
of  growth — this,  as  mere  mental  discipline,  would  be 
worth  more  than  to  be  able  to  tell  all  about  the  capes 
of  Norway  or  the  islands  of  the  Indian  Ocean  ;  while,  as 
the  means  of  engaging  the  attention  and  training  the 
observing  faculties  and  making  study  a  pleasure,  there 
would  be  no  room  for  comparison  between  the  two  sys- 
tems. The  study  of  nature  fosters  the  play  element  in 
us,  or  tends  to  convert  our  toil  into  pleasure,  at  least  to 
relieve  its  drudgery  and  irksomeness.  The  life  of  such 
a  man  as  Agassiz  was,  in  one  sense,  a  life  of  toil.  But 
how  full,  also,  of  happiness !  In  what  a  high,  serene  at- 
mosphere he  lived !  When  invited  once  to  participate 
in  a  scheme  which  promised  large  pecuniary  results,  his 
memorable  reply  wras  that  he  had  no  time  to  devote  to 
money-making.  The  pursuit  of  knowledge  for  its  own 
sweet  sake  was  his  life,  and  in  that  pursuit  his  whole 
life  may  be  said  to  have  been  play. 

The  play  element  will  have  a  larger  place  in  the 
scheme  of  country  life  in  proportion  as  the  general  in- 
telligence is  increased.  In  proportion  as  our  villagers 
refuse  to  be  mere  mechanical  drudges,  to  be  rated  like 
steam-engines  at  so  many  horse-power  each,  or  to  plough 
and  plant  and  reap  by  the  signs  of  the  moon  or  the  tra- 


312  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

ditions  of  their  grandfathers,  the  toil  necessary  to  the 
pursuit  of  agriculture  will  not  only  be  lessened  absolute- 
ly, but  the  play  element  will  so  enter  into  the  most 
arduous  processes  as  to  greatly  mitigate  their  severity. 
The  celebrated  John  Opie,  when  asked  by  some  one 
with  what  he  mixed  the  colors  on  his  palette,  replied, 
"  With  brains,  sir."  So  when  the  farmer  mixes  more  of 
brains  with  his  work,  and  does  not  leave  it  to  be  mainly 
a  matter  of  muscle,  the  result  will  not  only  be  larger  in 
a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  but  the  whole  process  by 
which  the  result  is  brought  about  will  itself  be  more 
pleasurable.  When  our  farmers  take  note  of  the  chem- 
istries involved  at  every  stage  of  their  work,  when  they 
are  at  home  in  the  laws  of  vegetable  growth,  when  they 
keep  themselves  informed  of  the  different  constitutions 
and  habits  of  the  plants  they  cultivate,  when  they  have 
a  cultured  eye  to  watch  the  thousand  curious  processes 
of  nature,  they  can  hardly  strike  a  hoe  into  the  ground, 
or  turn  a  furrow  in  the  field,  without  finding  something 
that  shall  so  engage  attention  and  touch  the  feelings  as 
to  relieve  the  drudgery  of  their  work  and  transform  toil 
into  pleasure. 

But,  apart  from  the  relief  from  the  irksome  pressure 
of  labor  afforded  by  a  more  intelligent  method  of  labor, 
and  which  the  more  general  diffusion  of  intelligence  and 
culture  will  everywhere  tend  to  secure,  we  ought  to  take 
care  in  other  ways  that  we  are  not  brought  into  bondage 
to  sheer  work,  and  so  broken  down  by  it.  While  we  are 
to  work,  we  ought  not  to  overwork.  The  greed  of  gain 


WORK  AND   PLAY.  313 

will  push  men,  and  their  whole  families  with  them, 
into  a  round  of  slavish  toil,  under  which,  if  they  do  not 
shorten  their  lives,  they  dwarf  and  brutalize  them,  and 
sink  themselves  below  their  proper  nature.  "  The  life 
is  more  than  meat,  and  the  body  than  raiment."  But 
how  apt  we  are  to  lose  sight  of  this !  Man  was  not  de- 
signed to  be  forever  in  bondage  to  toil  for  the  sake  of 
food  and  clothing.  This  is  the  temporary  necessity  of 
what  we  call  h\sfatt.  And  he  ought  now  to  assert  his 
freedom  in  whatever  measure  he  can.  In  the  midst  of 
his  lahors,  let  him  take  time  for  what  is  highest  and  best 
in  him.  Let  him  take  time  for  relaxation.  The  bow, 
to  do  its  best,  must  be  at  times  unstrung.  Let  him  not 
allow  his  bodily  toils  to  weigh  down  his  manly  energies 
and  choke  the  spontaneity  of  life,  or  wear  away  the 
freshness  of  his  sensibilities.  God  has  from  the  first 
given  man  his  Sabbaths  as  days  of  emancipation  and 
types  of  what  all  his  life  is  sometime  to  be— days  that 
come  week  by  week  to  set  him  free  from  toil  and  give 
him  the  sweet  assurance  that  he  was  made  for  something 
else  than  the  drudgery  of  work.  But  it  is  his  privilege 
even  now  to  have  other  days  of  rest  and  liberty.  And 
when  the  demands  of  labor — needful  labor  even — press 
hardest,  let  him  assert  his  birthright  of  freedom,  and 
give  his  nature  times  of  play.  In  the  busy  summer  sea- 
son, when  the  days  are  both  so  busy  and  so  long,  let 
there  be  care  taken  against  overwork.  There  is  danger 
at  such  times  that  many  a  boy  will  have  the  work  of  a 
man  put  upon  him,  and  so,  like  a  young  colt,  be  broken 
X 


314  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

down  before  his  bones  are  yet  knit  into  proper  firmness. 
There  is  danger  that  work  may  be  put  upon  or  assumed 
by  the  man  which  is  beyond  the  powers  of  the  man ;  and 
the  result  of  a  week's  overwork  may  be  a  hopeless  break- 
down for  life.  There  are  a  great  many  more  of  these 
early  broken-down,  crippled,  stiff  -  jointed  men  on  our 
farms  than  there  ought  to  be. 

Let  there  be  a  fair  halt  on  the  farm  at  mid-day ;  and 
if  the  sun  be  unusually  hot,  let  the  halt  begin  earlier 
and  last  the  longer.  Let  there  be  time  for  the  noon 
meal  to  be  eaten  leisurely  and  after  the  body  has  rested 
a  while,  as  health  demands ;  and  let  it  be  accompanied 
with  the  sauce  of  pleasant  conversation,  to  make  it 
something  more  than  the  hasty  swallowing  of  a  certain 
amount  of  provender  by  so  many  greedy  animals.  Then 
let  the  stomachs  of  men  and  animals  alike  have  some 
time  to  do  their  work  of  digestion  before  going  to  work 
again.  In  the  long  run  this  course  will  be  found  to  pay 
better,  alike  in  money  and  comfort  and  health,  than  the 
driving,  hurrying  course  which  strews  our  villages  with 
so  many  hulks  of  men  worn  out  before  their  proper 
time. 

But  guarding  against  overwork  is  not  enough.  Some- 
thing more  is  needed  and  ought  to  be  secured.  Once 
in  a  while  whole  days  should  be  taken,  if  but  one  at  a 
time,  when  the  harness  shall  be  taken  entirely  off  from 
man  as  well  as  beast,  and  the  time  be  given  up  not  only 
to  rest,  but  to  play,  often  the  best  kind  of  rest.  Let  the 
boys -have  their  games,  in  which  also  the  men  shall  join 


WORK  AND  PLAT.  315 

by  looking  on,  if  not  themselves  active  participants.  Or 
let  the  worker  go  off  upon  some  excursion  to  tlie  moun- 
tains or  the  sea-shore ;  or,  if  that  be  not  practicable,  let 
him  go  a -fishing,  or  break  up  the  routine  of  life  by 
camping  out,  if  for  only  a  single  day,  by  the  side  of 
some  familiar  brook — spending  the  time,  if  nothing  else 
offers,  in  catching  butterflies.  It  will  do  him  good. 
Only  let  him  not  be  selfish  in  his  play-spell.  Let  it  be 
a  play-spell  for  the  whole  family,  for  all  alike  need  it. 
The  mother  and  daughters  have  probably  toiled  as  hard 
as  the  father  and  sons,  perhaps  harder.  And  then  how 
good  to  keep  up  the  family  unity  and  affection  by  such 
a  commingling  in  pleasure  and  recreation !  Re-creation 
it  will  be.  All  will  be  born,  as  it  were,  into  a  new  life. 
It  is  a  very  good  thing,  also,  for  whole  neighborhoods 
to  go  together  on  these  pleasure  excursions.  We  have 
known  such,  when  perhaps  a  large  tent,  with  the  addi- 
tion, it  may  be,  of  a  few  lesser  ones,  has  been  taken  by 
fifty  or  sixty  of  the  same  village,  and  pitched  by  the 
sea-shore  or  on  some  pleasant  spot  and  made  their  tem- 
porary house.  And  they  have  enjoyed  this  life  all  the 
more  because  it  has  allowed  them  to  keep  themselves 
free  from  the  restraining  conventionalities  which  are 
apt  to  prevail  at  places  of  public  resort.  We  have 
known,  also,  companies  of  old  and  young,  two  or  three 
neighboring  families,  the  strong  and  the  feeble  together, 
to  go  up  to  some  spot  op  the  mountain-side,  taking  with 
them  blankets  and  a  few  simple  culinary  utensils,  and 
there  living  in  a  very  simple  way  for  a  week  or  two — get- 


316  VILLAGES   AND   VILLAGE   LIFE. 

ting  away  thus  from  the  haunts  of  men,  resting,  chang- 
ing the  whole  current  of  life,  breathing  the  pure  open 
air  highly  charged  with  oxygen,  and  coming  back  again 
after  so  little  time  with  a  new  lease  of  life  and  memo- 
ries of  delightful  scenes,  and  all  the  more  ready  for 
work  again,  and  for  more  effective  work  because  of 
this  respite  and  play-spell. 

There  is  little  danger  in  our  country  that  we  shall 
play  too  much.  On  the  contrary,  the  games  which  have 
within  a  few  years  been  revived  among  us,  or  intro- 
duced for  the  first  time,  are  to  be  taken  as  a  promising 
change  in  our  national  habit  of  life.  These  and  other 
games  and  sports  are  to  be  encouraged.  They  may  be 
abused,  as  every  good  thing  may  be  and  is  abused.  Let 
us  encourage  them,  while  we  guard,  as  we  may,  against 
their  misuse.  Let  us  not  make  our  games  and  sports 
themselves  a  labor.  There  is  danger  in  this  direction. 
It  were  a  good  thing  and  a  great  gain  to  us  if  we  had 
more  of  the  French  capacity  of  mingling  work  and 
play,  and  so  of  making  the  most  of  life.  If  we  would 
only  abate  our  extravagances  of  living  and  cultivate 
simplicity  of  taste,  half  our  work  would  be  enough  to 
satisfy  our  wants,  and  there  would  be  time  enough  for 
enjoyments  which  now  we  hardly  know.  We  toil  in 
order  to  have  a  time  of  rest  and  enjoyment,  but  we 
wear  ourselves  out  too  often  with  our  toil  before  the 
time  of  rest  and  enjoyment  comes. 

Quite  in  the  line  of  these  suggestions  as  to  the  need 
of  more  of  the  play  element  in  our  village  life,  we  have 


WORK   AND   PLAY.  31 - 

our  agricultural  fairs,  now  so  common  in  the  autumnal 
season.  There  is  nothing  in  itself  more  fitting  and  pleas- 
ant than  this  coming  together  of  the  dwellers  in  the 
country,  the  old  and  young,  bringing  with  them  speci- 
mens of  their  flocks  and  herds,  the  fruits  of  their  fields 
and  the  products  of  the  housewifely  industry  within- 
doors, and  then  comparing  together  their  methods  and 
experiments,  and  interchanging  pleasant  talk  and  dis- 
cussion about  matters  of  common  interest.  It  is  a  most 
healthful  custom,  and  ought  to  be  encouraged.  They 
might  be  made  pleasanter  and  better  than  they  are. 
More  of  method  in  their  management  and  a  determina- 
tion to  make  them  interesting  to  all  classes,  by  making 
all  classes  participants  in  them,  would  lift  them  up  to 
a  higher  position  of  importance  and  attractiveness  than 
they  now  hold.  They  should  not  be  regarded  as  occa- 
sions on  which  a  few  competitors  meet  for  the  purpose 
of  securing  the  petty  premiums  which  are  offered,  but 
as  true  festivals  for  the  whole  community.  All  should 
be  invited  to  contribute  something  of  their  work  to  the 
attraction  of  the  occasion,  and  all  would  find  something 
in  it  to  interest  them.  The  exhibitions  connected  with 
these  fairs,  if  any  such  should  be  allowed,  should  be 
something  above  fat  men  or  women,  or  six-legged  calves, 
or  monstrous  snakes.  Nor  should  horse-races  be  made 
the  chief  attraction.  Managed  as  they  might  be,  these 
fairs  would  become  true  festivals,  social  and  intellectual, 
and  the  people  of  any  village  be  the  happier  and  bet- 
ter for  them. 


318  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE 'LIFE. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

OUK     VILLAGE     FESTIVAL. 

"Once  more  the  liberal  year  laughs  out 

O'er  richer  stores  than  gems  or  gold; 
Once  more  with  harvest-song  and  shout 
Is  Nature's  bloodless  triumph  told. 

"Our  common  mother  rests  and  sings, 

Like  Ruth,  among  her  garnered  sheaves ; 
Her  lap  is  full  of  goodly  things, 

Her  brow  is  bright  with  autumn  leaves. 

*'O  favors  every  year  made  new! 

O  gifts  with  rain  and  sunshine  sent ! 
The  bounty  overruns  our  due, 

The  fulness  shames  our  discontent." 

WHITTIER. 

IT  has  been  charged  that  the  people  of  this  country, 
even  more  than  our  English  relatives  across  the  water, 
do  not  favor  festivals.  A  funeral,  it  is  said,  is  more  to 
their  taste,  more  accordant  with  their  habitual  feeling. 
There  is  some  foundation,  perhaps,  for  such  utterances. 
We  are  not  a  festive  race.  We  are  certainly  not  given 
to  hilarity.  The  springs  of  our  life  are  not  on  the  sur- 
face, where  they  are  easily  or  quickly  affected.  They 
lie  deep  down.  We  are  not  emotional,  or,  if  we  are,  our 
emotions  are  rather  of  the  slow  and  sombre  sort.  Com- 


OUR  VILLAGE  FESTIVAL.  319 

pared  with  many  other  peoples,  we  do  not  take  readily 
to  festivals  or  sports.  Doubtless  it  would  be  better  for 
us  if  we  could  vary  the  heavy  tread  of  life,  oftener  than 
we  do,  with  a  quickened  step.  It  would  be  well  if  we 
could  temper  our  sobriety  and  staiduess  of  feeling  with 
more  of  what  is  exhilarating  and  mirthful — cheerful,  to 
say  the  least.  And  if  we  could  have  something  in  the 
nature  of  festivals  ofteuer  than  we  do — occasions  in 
which  we  should  be  brought  together  in  larger  or  small- 
er numbers,  and  show  each  other  the  sunny  side  of  life, 
give  a  let-up  to  plodding  care  and  anxious  thought,  bring 
the  heart  out  upon  the  surface  and  share  a  joyous  mood 
together — it  would  be  the  better  for  us.  Nothing  good 
would  suffer  from  such  a  course.  The  wheels  of  life 
would  run  all  the  more  smoothly  and  pleasantly  for  it. 
But,  deficient  as  we  may  be  in  festivals  and  the  festive 
spirit,  we  have  one  festival  at  least  which  is  peculiar  to 
us,  and  deserves  to  be  cherished  with  the  heartiest  zeal 
and  good -will.  ''Thanksgiving"  is  a  festival  in  the 
truest  sense  and  of  the  highest  type.  Peculiar  to  New 
England  until  recently,  and  born  of  the  deep,  devout 
religious  feeling  of  our  Pilgrim  fathers,  it  has  been  for 
more  than  two  centuries  one  of  the  characteristic  feat- 
ures of  New  England  life.  But  the  tide  of  emigration, 
setting  so  strongly  westward  in  these  latter  years,  has 
carried  this  festival  into  the  newer  states,  though  in  a 
somewhat  modified  spirit ;  and  some  recent  experiences 
in  our  national  history,  combined  with  the  sense  of  its 
inherent  propriety  and  worth,  have  finally  combined  to 


320  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIFE. 

spread  it  over  the  land  and  to  make  it  a  national  rather 
than  a  local  festival. 

From  the  first  this  has  been  pre-eminently  a  family 
festival,  and  for  this  reason  it  asserts  for  itself  a  very 
high  place  in  our  regard ;  for  the  family  is  the  root 
and  central  idea  both  of  the  State  and  the  Church,  of 
civil  and  religious,  of  social  and  moral  life.  It  is  the 
conservator  of  all  that  is  good  in  society.  The  Anglo- 
Saxon  people  hold  and  cherish  the  family  as  hardly  any 
other  people  do.*  This  was  characteristic  of  them  far 
back  in  their  German  home  and  on  the  borders  of  the 
^orth  Sea.  It  was  &*&  families  especially  that  the  first 
settlers  of  New  England  came  hither  and  named  their 
new  home  after  the  old  one.  It  was  the  remembrance 
of  the  family  homes  of  old  England  that  led  them 
to  do  so.  And  so,  likewise,  the  various  settlements 
made  here  were  settlements  by  families,  and  not  by  in- 
dividual adventurers.  They  went  out  from  the  original 
settlements  or  colonies  by  families  or  households.  The 
family  was  the  unit  of  measurement  and  valuation  in  all 
such  movements.  They  formed  new  churches  when, 
and  only  when,  they  had  a  sufficient  number  of  families. 
They  established  their  schools  on  the  same  basis.  The 
family  or  household  was  the  ruling  idea  throughout. 
The  individual  was  of  little  account  except  as  connected 
with  a  family.  Society  was  built  upon  the  family,  and 
it  was  maintained  by  the  family  spirit,  or  with  this  as 

*  Green's  "History  of  the  English  People." 


OUR   VILLAGE  FESTIVAL.  321 

its  chief  strength  and  organ ific  power.  And  so  all  that 
is  best  and  dearest  to-day  we  inherit  from  that  family 
spirit  which  lay  at  the  very  foundation  of  our  civil  and 
religious  institutions ;  and  these  institutions  will  be  pre- 
served, and  will  be  worth  preserving,  in  proportion  as 
the  family  life  is  maintained  in  its  purity  and  proper 
spirit. 

Our  annual  Thanksgiving  festival  has  been  the  ap- 
propriate symbol  of  this  family  spirit  from  the  begin- 
ning. When  our  forefathers,  as  the  year  came  around 
and  the  harvest  was  gathered,  were  moved  by  their  de- 
vout feeling  to  render  thanks  to  the  bountiful  Giver  of 
all  good,  they  did  it  by  households.  They  not  only 
went  up  to  the  sanctuary  to  make  public  recognition  of 
their  obligations  to  God  and  to  give  him  thanks,  but 
they  made  it  a  time  of  rejoicing  by  families.  It  was 
pre-eminently  a  family  day.  Now,  if  at  no  other  time 
during  the  year,  the  importance  of  the  family  was  recog- 
nized ;  now,  if  at  no  other  time,  the  children  were  im- 
pressed with  the  fact  that  the  little  grouping  of  old  and 
young  which  was  gathered  under  one  roof  and  had  its 
life  around  a  common  fireside  was  held  to  be  something 
of  special  account.  Now  the  father  stood  as  a  patriarch 
at  the  head  of  his  little  realm,  and  was  joyfully  recog- 
nized as  such  ;  now  he  looked  down  upon  his  house- 
hold with  special  delight,  and  as  being  a  special  treas- 
ure. The  children  who  had  gone  out  from  home,  in 
the  natural  arrangement  of  things,  to  make  new  homes 
for  themselves,  now,  if  at  no  other  time  in  the  year, 


322  VILLAGES   AND    VILLAGE   LIFE. 

came  back  to  the  old  homestead,  and  recognized  the  fact 
that  they  and  theirs  belonged  to  an  older  and  a  higher 
household.  What  preparations  were  made  to  go  and 
visit  the  old  father  and  mother  at "  Thanksgiving  time !" 
What  journeyings  were  undertaken  for  this  purpose ! 
Fifty,  sometimes  a  hundred,  miles,  and  even  more,  were 
traversed  on  the  old  roads,  and  in  the  old-time  wagon, 
that  the  expected  family  reunion  might  be  enjoyed. 
And  what  a  hearty,  blessed  time  it  was !  No  expendi- 
ture, no  painstaking  for  it,  was  so  great  but  that  it  was 
amply  repaid.  How  the  old  people  became  young  again, 
as  grandfather  and  grandmother  saw  the  little  host  of 
grandchildren  filling  up  their  house !  and  how  rich,  too, 
they  felt  beyond  all  the  measure  of  gold  and  silver ! 
Those  were  precious  times.  How  they  knit  families 
together  and  kept  alive  the  family  feeling! 

And  now,  in  this  "day  of  roads,"  when  the  day's 
journey  is  extended,  from  the  fifty  miles,  at  best,  of  the 
olden  time  to  fis?e  hundred  and  even  more,  the  facilities 
for  such  reunions  are  greatly  increased,  and  widely  as 
the  children  may  be  scattered,  they  can  come  home  to 
the  festival  more  abundantly  and  more  easily  than  be- 
fore. Over  all  the  country,  but  especially  in  New  Eng- 
land, how  the  lengthened  trains  labor  for  a  day  or  two 
previous  to  "  Thanksgiving,"  with  their  precious  freight 
of  sons  and  daughters  hastening  to  the  ancestral  homes ! 
And  then,  when  the  festival  is  over,  how  the  cars  are 
crowded  again  with  the  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
who  have  gone  to  the  family  feast,  and  must  now  go 


OUK   VILLAGE  FESTIVAL.  323 

back  to  their  business  again !  Blessed  be  the  railroads 
that  they  make  such  a  thing  possible !  They  are  not 
merely  the  conveniences  of  traffic  and  the  highways  of 
trade,  but  they  are  also  the  instruments  of  civilization 
and  the  highways  of  affection.  As  the  trains  dart  back 
and  forth  over  the  continent,  from  city  to  hamlet,  and 
from  hamlet  to  city  again,  with  their  precious  freightage, 
they  are  so  many  shuttles  of  the  great  loom  in  which  is 
weaving  the  fabric  of  our  national  unity,  stability,  and 
virtue. 

So  let  the  day — Thanksgiving-day — be  cherished  and 
kept  as  a  thing  most  precious.  It  is  the  festival  of  the 
heart  and  the  festival  of  home.  Let  it  take  its  place 
with  Decoration-day  and  Independence-day,  a  day  not 
to  be  forgotten  or  left  in  neglect.  No  cost  of  time  or 
money  or  travel  incident  to  its  observance  can  be  too 
great.  Let  it  be  made  a  pleasant,  cheerful  day  to  all. 
Let  it  be  kept,  first  of  all,  as  a  family  day.  Let  the 
scattered  children  hasten  home,  and  let  them  be  called 
thither,  if  need  be,  by  a  mandate  from  the  gray-haired 
father  and  mother  in  the  name  and  by  the  authority  of 
home  and  all  which  that  blessed  word  implies.  Let  the 
reunion  be  not  a  matter  of  convenience  or  individual  in- 
clination merely,  but  a  thing  of  principle  and  duty.  Let 
the  children  and  the  children's  children  come  back,  and 
together  around  the  family  fireside  burnish  anew  the 
links  in  the  chain  of  household  affection  and  interest. 
Let  it  be  a  day  of  good  cheer  in  every  way.  Let  it  be  a 
feast-day  in  the  common  understanding  of  the  term.  Let 


324:  VILLAGES  AND   VILLAGE  LIFE. 

the  table  be  spread  with  the  good  things  which  a  kind 
Heavenly  Father  has  provided  for  his  children.  But 
let  the  occasion  be  also  more  than  this — more  than  a 
day  of  eating  and  drinking  or  mere  animal  pleasure. 
Let  it  be  a  day  of  delight  in  one  another  for  one  an- 
other's sake.  Let  the  story  of  the  life  of  each  during 
another  year  now  gone  be  told,  the  varied  experiences, 
the  ups  and  downs,  the  successes  and  the  disappoint- 
ments ;  and  let  love  be  seen  to  be  the  heightener  of  all 
joys  and  the  balm  of  every  trouble.  Let  the  ties  of 
kindred  and  family  affection  be  knit  afresh ;  and,  as 
separation  comes  again,  let  each  go  out  stronger  for  all 
duties  and  trials,  and  with  a  new  anchorage  to  all  virtue. 
But  the  festival  will  not  have  its  proper  crown,  will 
not  rise  to  its  true  and  proper  character,  except  as  the 
religious  element  has  its  rightful  place  in  it.  Our  fa- 
thers were  careful  on  this  day  to  go  up  to  the  house 
of  God  and  give  thanks  to  him  for  his  bountiful  gifts 
and  his  abundant  mercies.  They  went  up  by  house- 
holds. They  would  have  been  absent  from  the  place 
of  public  worship  on  Sunday  as  soon  as  on  Thanksgiv- 
ing-day. And  why  not  ?  We  have  declined  from  their 
feeling  in  this  regard — at  least,  from  the  manifesta- 
tion of  a  like  feeling.  In  many  cases  the  thanksgiving 
seems  to  be  forgotten  in  the  feasting.  But  if  ever  peo- 
ple— if  ever  households  as  such,  old  and  young  togeth- 
er— should  be  moved  to  go  up  to  the  house  of  God  with 
joyful  and  thankful  hearts,  this  would  seem  to  be  the 
time.  At  this  season  of  ingathering,  when  barns  and 


OUR  VILLAGE  FESTIVAL.  325 

storehouses  are  filled  with  the  fruits  which  his  dews 
and  rains  and  sunshine  have  brought  to  perfection ;  at 
this  season,  when  households  come  together,  and  par- 
ents and  children  look  into  each  other's  eyes  and  are 
reminded  that  God  "  hath  set  men  in  families,"  it 
would  seem  that  the  least  susceptible  and  the  least  de- 
vout would  be  ready  to  go  up  to  the  house  of  God,  and 
gratefully  make  mention  of  his  loving-kindness.  Now, 
if  at  no  other  time,  it  would  seem  that  the  Christian 
sanctuary  would  be  filled  with  a  throng  of  grateful  wor- 
shippers. That  feast  is  only  half  blessed  for  which 
thanks  have  not  first  been  offered  to  Him  whose  boun- 
ty spread  the  table;  and  that  family  union  lacks  the 
sweetest  savor  which  has  not  offered  its  grateful  praise 
with  others  in  the  courts  of  Him  who  is  the  common 
father  of  all,  and  who  calls  us  his  children.  Let  not  the 
careful  Marthas  allow  themselves  to  be  so  cumbered  with 
much  serving  that  they  cannot  sit  for  an  hour  at  the 
feet  of  Christ  in  the  sanctuary,  and  learn  of  him  a  high- 
er service  than  that  which  ministers  to  material  wants. 

And  as,  at  the  season  of  flowers,  we  are  wont  to  car- 
ry them  into  the  place  of  worship,  so,  at  this  season  of 
fruits,  it  is  a  comely  custom  in  some  places,  and  might 
be  in  all,  to  carry  into  the  house  of  God  the  various 
products  of  the  field  and  of  the  husbandman's  industry ; 
and  there,  in  the  midst  of  them  all,  and  with  the  sight 
of  them  to  quicken  memory  and  feeling,  to  lift  up  the 
voice  in  praise  to  Him  who  alone  giveth  the  increase, 
whoever  may  plant,  whoever  water.  The  vision  of  one 


326  VILLAGES  AND  VILLAGE  LIKE. 

such  occasion  comes  back  to  us  now,  after  the  lapse 
of  many  years.  We  see  just  in  front  of  the  pulpit, 
in  the  old  village  church,  a  large  vase  heaped  to  the 
full  with  bright-lined  apples  of  various  sorts,  from  the 
midst  of  which  upspring  stalks  of  grain  nodding  high 
their  golden  heads,  while  around  its  base  lie  heaps  of 
corn  and  other  products  of  the  garden  and  the  field. 
As  the  service  goes  on  and  the  hymns  of  thanksgiv- 
ing are  sung,  we  see  the  eyes  of  the  farmers  riveted 
upon  the  symbols  of  their  work  and  the  tokens  of  the 
divine  goodness ;  and  the  sight  reacts  upon  their  hearts 
and  gives  a  stronger  and  more  significant  expression  to 
their  gratitude  as  the  glistening  tear-drops  mingle  with 
their  praises. 

Thanksgiving-day  is  pre-eminently  the  village  festi- 
val. As  it  had  its  origin  among  a  rural  people,  so  it 
seems  to  belong  especially  and  most  appropriately  to 
the  open  country.  The  old  farm-house,  the  gentle 
slope  of  grass  near  it,  the  apple-trees  not  far  off,  the 
spring  and  the  babbling  brook  so  dear  to  childhood, 
and  the  woods,  where  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  in 
the  dreamy  October  days  was  so  welcome — somehow 
these  seem  to  be  the  frame  in  which  the  Thanksgiving 
festival  has  its  most  appropriate  setting.  So  let  it  be 
cherished  as  the  village  festival.  It  should  have  its 
place  only  next  to  Christmas  —  the  great  soul-festival 
of  the  world".  Our  village  life  would  lose  one  of  its 
most  impressive  scenes,  and  one  of  its  peculiar  charms, 
if  it  had  not  its  Thanksgimng-day* 


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